As a fairly successful horror writer, owning my very own Victorian house is the dream. With my latest book selling as well as it does it was finally time to put down roots. It was a short search. Only a few months later, I finally found my dream house. It was a small Victorian house but I was alone, introverted and never liked people anyway so small was perfect. Price was right, location was not important and owning a house was… everything I ever hoped for. Even better, it had its own small cul de sac so no close by pesky neighbors to be worried about. It had a lot of furniture already, and the rest I bought. Kitchen was new and shiny, the bathroom had new pipes but the old bath with claw legs and bedroom had a bed that was every horror fans dream. Huge, dark, wooden with a veil. Bedroom also had a reading nook that looked out to the driveway. Perfect location for a ghost to overview the new potential owners. Just being in this house inspired me to write! Truly, who could have asked for more.

I had groceries delivered once a week, mostly because delivery boys were always cute and scared of the house. Apparently I was the talk of the town. Famous writer in a scary house, barely leaving the house, having most everything delivered. I did not care much about the gossip and I loved the notoriety. It just made me write more!

And yet there was something about this house. Maybe it was the sounds it made when I was falling asleep. My mother would say the house is simply settling into cold or hot, and I assumed it was so. Over time I learned all the noises an old house makes and it was a great comfort to me. It was like the house was talking to me. I know, I know… I sound crazy. And yet, I felt less lonely. I made sure the house is taken care of in the best possible way. The best wax for the floors so they were nice and shiny, I dusted the entire house at least once a week, and I polished the silver. It was hard work but rewarding. House has never looked better, and I've gotten a lot of writing material for my new novel. Not surprising, my novel was about a haunted mansion and a maid that worked there. I have to say it was definitely one of my best works. I sent it to the publisher and hoped for the best.

Police sirens are what woke me up in the morning. They sounded so close I was sure they were coming to my house. But there was no knocking. I got out of bed, and looked out of the reading nook. Nothing in the driveway. I went around in the kitchen and looked out of the windows there… also nothing. Well that was odd. I know I heard police sirens. And even if they were gone now, they didn't slowly go away. It was like they were just… cut off. So where did they go? Of course that's when I noticed the front door was open. It was very slightly open and the wind was slowly opening it more. I went to the front door, opened it wider and looked around. Nothing. Slight morning fog, cold sun rising and dead silence. I slammed the door closed and went about my morning routine. Today was gardening day. When I moved in, the backyard was in a horrible condition but a few months later it was the most amazing backyard I have ever seen. Roses in full bloom were neatly cut, fountain was clean and sparkly and metal furniture was placed in a shadow. What I loved the most about my backyard was a scary willow tree. It was the main focus of my novel, a place where the maid hangs herself and starts haunting her house. It was an old willow with branches reaching all the way to the floor, allowing for a hiding place under it. As the sun was slowly rising, my love for my house was rising as well.

Loud boots were stomping in my house. I was jolted awake by the noise. I searched for my cell phone, remembering too late I left it in the kitchen. I got up quietly and searched for anything that might help me with intruders. The only thing I found was a fire poker. I grabbed it and walked to my door. I put my ear to the door and listened. The sound of someone walking seems to be going away. I slowly opened the door, thinking how lucky I was to oil the hinges not so long ago, so they didn't creak anymore and took a peek. I saw nothing. I waited a few minutes before quietly running to the kitchen. My cellphone was nowhere to be found. Damn it. I went to the dining room and listened again, just to hear if they were coming close. There was not a sound to be heard. Slowly I went around the entire house, fire poker in my hands looking for the intruder. I found nothing and no one. All of the doors were locked and all of the windows were closed. This made no sense. I finally whispered if anyone was there. When no answer came I asked louder. By the end I was yelling in the house asking if someone was there and to come out. By the time my throat got hoarse I’ve had enough. There was clearly no one in my house.

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I slept uneasy. When I woke up I did another take of the house, making sure everything seemed fine. There was a bag of groceries on my front door so I took those in and put them away. My editor still hasn't written me back and it seems my cellphone was hopelessly lost. I was thinking of calling the police on a landline but what would I say? Maybe there is a ghost in the house or maybe I imagined it all.

It was not the end of course. My things were slowly disappearing. At first it was small things, like a ring, a necklace, a robe. I wonder how long it has been going on. I rarely wear jewelry so that might have been gone for a while. But with my cell phone now gone, I noticed a lot more stuff was nowhere to be found. I looked from the attic to the basement in all the nooks and crannies. It could have been mice? I had no other explanation and I finally decided to call the exterminator. I found the phone number online and used a landline to call. No one answered. Line just kept on ringing and ringing. I decided to call my editor. Same thing. My mother. Line just kept ringing. I called the police. Nothing. My heart was beating faster. Something was wrong. I looked for my car keys to drive to the police station but those were gone as well.

I screamed. It was infuriating. I finally put on my coat and decided to walk to one of my neighbours. It should only be a couple of minutes of walk and all of this will be solved. As soon as the warm sun shined on my face everything melted away. I was being silly. I've been cooped up in that house for so long it got me to. Smiling, I walked down the road to my neighbour. Evening fog was coming and it was cold. My closest neighbor lived in his own Victorian mansion, quite bigger than mine. I knocked on the door. No one answered. Well they might be working. So I went to the other side of a big red ranch style house. There was a car upfront and lights inside. As I walked I saw a shadow moving in the window. I smiled more broadly as I rang the doorbell. Doors slowly opened and they creaked. Someone was not taking care of their house as well as I did!

"Hello?" I said. "Is anyone home?" I walked into an empty hallway. Lights were flickering and my heart took a dive. House was… a mess. Dust everywhere and weird markings. It looked like the wood was moldy and old. I heard a whisper coming from upstairs, but I couldn't even go upstairs! The stairs were… all rotted away. That's when I noticed a shadow on the top of the stairs. I gasped and put my hands over my mouth. It was a little boy. Dead little boy. He had no eyes, just gaping black holes. There was a red wound on his neck as if someone tried to cut off his head! His clothes were old and tattered and hanging on him. I turned around and ran. I ran to the other neighbours home and knocked and screamed.

"Please let me in!" The doors swung wide open and just as I thought I was safe I saw who opened it. A woman, dressed in all black with a black parasol. That was not necessarily that odd but my heart still didn't calm down. The woman was dressed in very, very old clothes as if from another era. She had no eyes, but only gaping black holes. She extended her hand to touch me and I ran away screaming. She did not follow me. The other neighbor's house looked like a house from hell. It was burned down and only a skeleton of the house remained. And a bunch of burned bodies were sitting on the floor of the house playing cards. I smelled them before my eyes finally caught on to what I was seeing.

I ran back home. I should have been tired or in pain because of all the running I did, but all I felt was panic. My doors were wide open as if the house was offering me safety. I did not question the open door, I just ran inside, locked the door and ran all the way to my bed. I crawled under the covers and cried. I don't know how long I stayed there.

I wasn't hungry or thirsty. I wasn't anything anymore. I didn't go outside. I stayed inside my house where it was safe from those monsters. I didn't venture into the backyard and the rose bushes were starting to overgrow everything once again. I stayed mostly in my room, keeping an eye on the front yard. Occasionally I would see a shadow and I would yell at them to go away. They never stayed long once they noticed me. I once caught a shadow inside my house! I threw some stuff at it and it quickly ran out. I made sure to lock the door and keep a better eye on things.

I barely sleep. I had to keep the house safe. Dust was starting to gather around the house but I didn't mind. Occasionally I would catch my reflection in the mirror and I scared myself. My eyes were bloodshot and I was looking thinner and thinner. Clothes hanged on me and they were starting to look ragged as well. I would have changed but by now all my stuff disappeared.

Occasionally I would venture to the neighborhood again but seeing monsters and ghosts was too much for me. I resigned myself to staying here. Reading nook became my place and I would sleep and watch. Eventually I covered the mirrors with cloth because everytime I looked at myself I looked more and more like those monsters outside.

Black holes instead of eyes, almost no body and tattered clothes.