The Mansion of Clare Road.

Well seeing as it's close to Halloween me and my dad were watching some scary movies on TV and decided to write a lil horror story of our own. He basically threw out simple ideas and I typed them up and wove them into this story. I had a lot of fun writing this. So I've decided to post it up and share it with you. So without further to do I present our story. Co Written by Lig and his dad. Who for the purposes of posting it here has asked me to use his old CB handle as his Author's name. NightHawk.
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The Mansion of Clare Road.
Written by Lig and his dad NightHawk.

Clare Road is a dark place. Dense trees line the dark road giving it the appearance of evening in midday. The branches seam to reach for you. Some times at night you can see eyes in the dark. Watching you. The house at the end of this dreary road is an old one. Some say as old as time itself. This may not be far from the truth for as long as there have been records written the Mansion has been there. Dark and Foreboding. On the porch of this dark home sits and old swing. No warm body has sat in it for longer then anyone can remember. But the swing seems to be constantly in motion even on a calm windless day. Off in the distance at night you can hear a wolf’s cry. Yet even the wolf will not approach this place of woe. As you cross the porch of this most dreaded of places you can hear the scratch of the feet of rats scurrying across the roof above your head. As you open the door it creeks with the sound of it’s age and maybe perhaps as a moan of despair. Inside this house there are cob webs scattered everywhere. Predators waiting for there meal. As you walk through this house everything is set. As if those that lived here never left. The dining table is set and books in the study lye open. Not a word of them has been read for quite some time. As you continue your trek through this house you can hear faint moans. Perhaps those lost souls here. And in the dark places if your quite you can hear whispers. As if the spirits of this place are conspiring. Even while standing still you can hear creaks coming from the stairs seemingly. But the stairs are thick with dust. No one has climbed them since the spirits that dwell here once lived. As you slowly creep up these stairs you take note of your foot prints. The first made in this house for quite some time. Atop the stairs along the hall there are portraits of people along the walls. Perhaps of those that once lived her. But from there dress in these portraits it is clear that they have not lived for over a century. In these the bedrooms the beds lye neatly made. The moonlight filters into these rooms adding a foreboding feeling to them. Sleep will not come to you here. At the end of the hall there is a door. Behind which is a stair way spiraling up to the attic. At sunset the room has a sense of gloom. As if when the sunsets it’s rays will not shine again. Along the walls of this room is old furniture neatly stacked on one side and trunks fill with who knows what on the other. A bird cage swings with no breeze. In the center sits a seamstress’ Manikin wearing a white wedding dress. But the dress shows no sign of wear. It is clear it has not been touched in a very long time. Yet no dust gathers upon it. Even the spiders will not lay there webs there. At the back of the attic there is a large window. This window looks down upon a morbid sight. A large black gate is seen rimming a cemetery. Dead trees surround it adding to the feeling of coldness and death. In the center of this cemetery there is a Mausoleum. It seems to have been there for as long as the house. Perhaps longer though no one can say for sure. On each side to the door of this mausoleum are lanterns. Lit by who, what or how can not be known. Above it’s entrance there is a weathered name for it’s occupant and a date of birth. It is too weathered to be read though and strangely there is no death date upon this. Should you leave this place of sorrow now you may perhaps live. Enter the Mausoleum and your death is all but assured. Yet your curiosity leads you on. You turn the rusted door handle. The door rumbles and creeks as it opens. It has not been opened since it’s occupant was placed there. Behind the door there is a dark stair way leading into unknown depts. A chill runs up you spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You feel fear. As well you should. As you descend the stairs you find a room lined with coffins. Rats scurry over and around them. In the center there is a lone coffin with two lit candles illuminating a plack on it. The name and date is not weathered on this. It is crisp as if written yesterday. You feel a sense of dread and horror as you realize the name and date of birth are yours. Listen to me and listen well. I am dead. Long dead. Leave this place and leave it now. Don’t ask why or how. But leave this place and leave it now. When you are safely home say a prayer for the poor soul that lies in that coffin. Thank god it is not you. You will live another day. Morning comes and night fades. And as the night does fade so does the Mansion and the road. Beware of the house. Beware of the Mansion of Clare Road. Beware it. For who knows where the Mansion will be the next night. Beware the Mansion of Clare Road. Aaaahhhhhhhh!

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Well folks there's our short story. Tell me what you thought.

Oooh, spooky! That's the kind of story to tell around a campfire late at night! In fact, I think I will tell it, next time I'm with people and we're telling ghost stories! Nice work, Lig and Nighthawk!