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I’ve always been interested in abandoned places.
There’s something about the peeling paint, broken windows, and forgotten history that grabs my attention in a way I can’t explain. These relics of the past, with their silent stories and eerie beauty, fascinated me.
I spent most weekends wandering through abandoned buildings and overgrown plantations, imagining the life that once animated them. My friends thought it was a strange hobby, but there was something about the decay and sadness that felt oddly comforting.
Alright, time for introductions. I’m Zephyra Everhart. Most people call me Zeph. I lived with my grandparents and had it for as long as I can remember. My parents? They’re not really part of my story. I am very happy with my Nonna and Poppa.
“Breakfast is ready, pumpkin!” Talk about the devil.
“Come on, Poppa,” I shouted back, stuffing my journal into the drawer and closing it.
I walked downstairs, attracted by the delicious aroma of my Nonna’s big breakfast, as usual. Call it a cliche, but these guys are in love. Like crazy, you know. Currently, Nonna was humming softly while setting the table, while Poppa looked at her with heart-shaped eyes. Sometimes it makes me want to throw up because of the sweetness. But I admire them. They mean a lot to me.
After a pleasant breakfast, I started my usual adventure, wandering around the forest. Let me tell you, I live in Oakvale, a small town in the middle of nowhere, so there’s a lot to explore around here.
After some time during exploration, I discovered something that would change everything.
The mansion stood at the edge of the city, shrouded in mist and mystery. I’ve been there before, but today it felt different. The air was heavy with anticipation.
Willowbrook Estate is a grand, stately home that has been in ruins for decades. The exterior, now covered in ivy and dense foliage, hints at past grandeur. The brick walls are cracked and crumbling, with most of the facade missing, giving the house a skeletal and unsettling appearance. Broken windows lined the upper floors, their shards of glass catching the moonlight and casting jagged shadows on the ground below.
I cautiously approached the entrance, and I saw a glimmer of white light in the weathered wooden doorway. It wasn’t there when I came to visit last time. An envelope, yellowing and brittle with age. My fingers trembled slightly when I took it, the paper crinkling under my touch. The ink on the front is faded but still legible, the fine writing reads:
“You are invited to a party at Willowbrook Estate. Exactly midnight. Follow the prompting.”
Woah, so dramatic? and evening parties? What’s that? Maybe some bad things happened in the past. But what is it doing here? I can see the faded name at the end signed. Too bad it’s faded.
Maybe it was an elaborate joke. Perhaps another urban explorer with a sense of humor had left it there, hoping to scare the next curious soul.
“You thinking Also Lots Zeph. Only leave. Acting like A daughter invited to defecate.” Pablo, whispered my subconscious. Don’t judge, I named my subconscious and it is a Spanish man. So what? This is much more interesting anyway.
Right now, he was somewhat right. Not that this was addressed to me but I put the letter in my backpack just in case. For your information, I am a daughter to my Nonna and Poppa, thank you very much.
As I continued exploring, a feeling of unease came over me. The invitation seemed to stick in my mind, whispering to me in the quiet moments. Was it really a joke, or was there something more to it? With that in mind, I returned home.
Day turned into night, and I found myself unable to shake the feeling that the letter was intended for me. Every time I close my eyes, I see the subtle script and hear the gentle command to come alone. It’s not just his words that haunt me, but the goals he carries.
Whoever wrote that letter intended for it to be found, intended for me to follow his instructions. Yes, that’s what I thought.
By the afternoon of the next day, my curiosity had reached its peak. I tried to reason with myself, thinking it was all just a joke. But deep down, I knew I had to get it done. And Pablo, that little thing changed his opinion as to what. Now he is pestering me to leave.
When the clock struck eleven, I gathered a few essentials—a flashlight, a notebook, and a small pocketknife—and slipped out to Willowbrook Estate. I also took a small broken ballerina that I once took from the mansion. Just in case.
The night was cool and quiet, a silence that magnified every rustle of leaves and distant chirp of an owl. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the path. My footsteps were the only sound, a rhythmic crunch on the gravel road that led to the plantation. I felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation, my heart beating faster with every step.
“What if this is a trap? What if I walk into something dangerous?” Oh Shut up, Pablo. One second he was pestering me to leave and now he was worried. A bit bipolar if you ask me. I needed to know, that the revelation of the mystery was too powerful to resist. And I felt like the main character of a horror movie. So, off we go to the mansion!
When I reached the gate of Willowbrook Estate, I stopped for a moment. The iron gate, once ornate and majestic, was now rusty and slightly ajar. Behind them, the mansion loomed, its dark silhouette broken only by the faint moonlight. I took a deep breath and stepped through the gate, feeling a shiver down my spine. Just that.
The air inside the plantation area felt different, heavier, as if filled with latent energy. I followed the overgrown path to the front of the mansion, the whisper of the wind guiding my steps. As I approached the entrance, I noticed that the door was slightly ajar, inviting me in.
I hesitated for a moment, the reality of my situation starting to sink in. Am I really going to break into an abandoned mansion in the middle of the night, based on the mysterious letter I found? But curiosity won, as it always does.
“Curiosity killed the cat Zeph” Don’t jinx it, damn it. There’s no turning back now. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The inside of the mansion was as shabby as I remembered, but now the atmosphere was hopeful. Moonlight filtered through the broken window, making eerie patterns on the floor. Dust specks danced in the beam of my flashlight as I swept it across the room. The air was filled with the scent of decay and something else I couldn’t place—a slight floral scent, like old perfume.
My heart pounded as I walked through the grand foyer, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards.
The room was spacious and empty, with only the tattered remains of once luxurious furniture remaining. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, clinging desperately to the walls, revealing patches of mold and rot beneath. Spider webs were draped across the high, ornate ceiling, their fine threads glistening in the dim light. Dust covered everything, thick and undisturbed, except for the path I had taken.
The grand staircase, which is the centerpiece of the foyer, rises majestically but is marred by missing banisters and curved steps. It split in two, leading to a dark upper floor, where the darkness seemed increasingly impenetrable.
As I moved through the mansion, the feeling of being watched never left me. The portraits lining the corridors add to the eerie atmosphere. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me, their expressions frozen in a mixture of haughtiness and sadness. Each room I passed held its own story of neglect and decay.
What had been a library was now a cave of collapsed shelves and scattered books, their pages yellowed and torn. The letter said to come in person, but it didn’t say what would happen when I arrived.
At exactly midnight, the sound of a soft bell echoed throughout the mansion, coming from somewhere deep inside, forcing me to jump slightly. My heart pounded as I followed the sound, my flashlight flickering as if responding to an unseen presence. The feeling of being watched grew stronger with every step. What if I experience something I can’t handle?
The bell led me to a large wooden door at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, and when I pushed it open, I found myself in a large ballroom. The room was large and empty, except for a single table in the middle, draped in a dirty white cloth. On the table was another envelope, the same as the one I found outside. My hands trembled as I took it and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper with the same complicated writing:
“Welcome, Zephyra. Your adventure begins now.”
Suddenly a gust of wind blew across the room, killing my flashlight and plunging me into darkness. I felt a presence behind me, and before I could turn around, a disembodied voice whispered in my ear, “Hello.”
Oh shit.
