Eighteens House

Krivorotova Evelyn

I couldn't believe I had turned eighteen, free to be my own person at last. The time had passed by so quickly and it was almost imperceptible to me that my life had gone by so fast. My parents had moved to Paris, the most romantic and beautiful city in the world, and let me take a big and decisive step into an independent life. As a present for my eighteenth birthday I received an old country house, which our family owned for five generations. Nobody had lived there for thirteen long years; I had never seen this family house before. At first I thought what was the reason of giving me this ruin? A small, comfortable flat in the well planned and built area of central Dallas would have been much better. Thinking positively, it would be a great place to spend my fabulous and funny summer holidays with my best friends and my loving boyfriend.

During June, the hot days of summer, at the end of a hard year working at high school I set off for my new and mysterious house, which I had no idea what it looked like. So I could turn on my imagination and dream. But I should be very careful with my clumsy expression, so that my expectations don't become ruined. Five hot and almost unbearable hours in the car without a cool air conditioner and we finely got there. For the last hour I had seen nothing, apart from farms and local petrol stations, which was about twenty minutes away.

There I was standing in front of the sad, stone ruin. The first thing that I drew my attention was a yellow cornfield. It was so big, that you could hardly separate the marble trees in the forest after it. The forest looked like a dark-green, almost black, horizontal line that separated the sky and the earth. There was loud rustling in the wind, my hairs stood up with fear and anxiety. A slight breeze in the air filled up the atmosphere with a wheat-fir smell, which allured me to go outside.

Standing in front of me was this old, but still beautiful and fascinating house, of faded bricks and creeping gloriosa which grew along the house like long tentacles. Bright crimson-yellow flowers of the plant looked distinguished on the tarnished, faded brick wall. While I was walking to the backyard to get the key from the house, I noticed a door to the secret garden. I didn't know where the key from this door was, but from the stories that my parents used to tell me, I knew that in the garden there was a labyrinth made out of plants. I used to dream how one day I will play in this little green place. Now I think it was not so beautiful and green. Nobody was looking after the house for many years. Sometimes you could see the yellow and green leaves waltzing as they blew in the wind.

The style of the house was very similar to the buildings during the end of the nineteenth century. Big and wide windows were stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

I went to the front door and turned the key in the keyhole. I could hardly move this massive door from the place. As I walked in, in front of me was a big dusty dark hall, and I was encircled by an atmosphere that felt like it was squeezing and choking me. Suddenly everybody ran in to the house. I felt better. All I wanted at that moment was to take a rag, clean everything and let the light in.

Everybody that was hoping to occupy the most beautiful, comfortable and big room in the house ran upstairs. The stairway began at the end of the hall and it’s staircases separated as two branches of the tree, converging in the end and forming a hanging balcony on the second floor. I froze when I heard the squeaking stairs heartbreaking cries, which contemporarily stripped all my thoughts try to sneak out at night. Passing though the corridor with the rooms, I noticed the collection of big dusty family portraits hanging on the walls. I was drawn like a magnet to the room at the end of corridor. When I opened the door I was startled. The room was as clean and shiny as a crystal; there was not the slightest speck of dust or smudge. In the very first moment I realized that this room had always belonged to the house owner, so I decided to stay there.

The room consisted of three major parts. On the floor all over the room, excluding the bathroom, lay a carpet as fluffy and delicate as chinchilla fur. When I stepped on it, it seemed that all pressure and drowsiness melted away, like from having a good sleep. In the middle of the room stood a gilded tea table, surrounded by two big, wide, strong armchairs and by a beautiful, elegant sofa. On the left side stood a big king-size bed, with curtains draping from post to post. From this beautiful view I could hardly notice a small door to the bathroom.

The door opened with a loud creak. My feelings absolutely changed. The entire bath was made out of cold, unbreathable marble. It felt so empty and I nervously closed the door.

On the other side of the room was a famous favorite room for any woman, the dressing room. There was a pleasant scent of pink roses, which had turned my head. I walked along the room to the wide, big white window and opened it. At that moment the wheat-fir smell beckoned me outside.

I think that everybody heard that I went downstairs and the big door with a bang closed after me. I heard the approaching rustle in the ears. Suddenly a monster come out caught me with his tentacles and dragged me in to the secret garden. Now I'm dead, and every night I'm sitting and looking on the still hang moon in the sky that so beautifully spangled with stars.

P.S. Don't go there.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16