It was easy to see why people thought the house was haunted. It certainly looked the part: old, gothic, and forbidding. The house had two wings and one central tower, although one of the wings was almost completely destroyed. The walls were crumbling and blackened - the house had been ravaged by a fire, or so the story went. Some sort of growth covered most of the exposed surfaces, something like a vine, except it had no leaves. The thin branches snaked everywhere, creeping over the old stones like veins.
James took off his backpack and threw it over the gate. He gripped the iron bars tightly and clambered over, careful to avoid the sharp spikes. His feet hit the gravel with a muffled crunch. There was a stillness here, a sudden quietness. James shouldered his backpack, suppressing a shiver, and started up towards the house. The trees lining the path were twisted and dead, gnarled fingers frozen in mid-grasp. Not a breath stirred the air.
"This place is amazing," James whispered. The sound of his own voice was comforting. He could feel his heart racing already. Everything here just dripped with atmosphere - there must be something to the stories.
The front door was heavy, wooden, and creaked loudly as he opened it. It was dark inside; the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the windows were pale, cold, leeched of life. James rummaged in his backpack and produced a torch. He flicked it on, playing the beam around the room. All the furniture was covered in dusty cloth. There was a stone fireplace on the left, surrounded by what looked like chairs. Ahead of him was a large central staircase, splitting at the top, each branch - he assumed - leading to one wing of the house. James approached the stairs and ascended, moving slowly, swinging his torch from left to right. Behind him, the front door swung slowly shut.
The one intact wing of the house stretched before him, soaked in shadow. The thin beam of the torch revealed a long corridor, with rooms on both sides. The floor was carpeted, the colours and designs long since faded to a dark, mottled grey. Portraits lined the walls. James moved forward, studying the paintings. Most were blackened and scarred, but some were relatively intact. They showed men and women in period costumes - medieval, James guessed, but he really didn't know enough to be sure. One in particular caught his eye, a beautiful woman -
"Jamesss..."
James swung around, the torchlight dancing from wall to wall. He strained his eyes against the darkness, but saw nothing.
"Jaaamesss..." The voice was soft, breathy, female. He gripped the torch tightly, heart pounding. A haunted house - this was real! With a deep breath he took a tentative step forward, eyes and ears straining. Another step.
"Here, James..." The door on his right. He was sure of it. He eased it open.
The room was empty except for a large object in the centre, covered in cloth. He reached out, grasped the rough fabric, pulled. The sheet slid to the ground, revealing an ornate mirror in a gilded frame, dull with age.
There was a woman in the mirror.
James gasped. She was gorgeous! Her skin was pale, her long dark hair tumbled over ivory shoulders. Her face was exquisite, midnight-black eyes, aquiline nose, ruby lips. She was dressed in a flowing dress, blood-red, that failed to hide the swell of her expansive bosom.
James watched, entranced, as she approached him from behind and laid her hands gently on his shoulders. "Thank you, James," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
He spun around, and the feeling vanished abruptly. There was no one there.
He turned around again - and there she was, her hands once again caressing his shoulders, her hair brushing his cheek. She gazed at him in the mirror, dark eyes intense.
"Who are you?"
She smiled at him. "I am the Lady of this house."
"Are you... a ghost?"
"I am not dead, James. Merely trapped."
"Trapped?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his.
James frowned suddenly. "Wait a minute - how did you know my name? Did you read my mind?"
Now she chuckled richly. "My, such an imagination! Most people would be trembling in fear right now."
James cleared his throat and tried to stand a little bit straighter. "Well, I'm not afraid."
"No, I think you tremble for a different reason." Her hand slid down his arm and brushed against his thigh lightly. He followed the movement in the mirror, and felt his face going red.
"But perhaps you should be afraid," she said, drawing his attention back to her face. Her red lips peeled back in a wide smile, revealing two sharp, milk-white fangs.
With a strangled cry, James turned and ran.
***
Not until he was outside his house did he finally stop, out of breath, gasping. And yet he couldn't help but smile. A real haunting! He would go back tomorrow - and this time he would be prepared. He stepped inside, tingling with excitement.
"Alice! Kid's back."
"Hello, father," James said, receiving only a grunt in response. His father lay sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.
"James! You're late! I thought you were coming home straight from the university?" His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a dirty apron, face drawn, hair in an untidy bun. "Dinner soon, go up and get changed." She disappeared back into the kitchen. James trudged up the stairs.
He was washing his face in the sink when he felt a presence behind him. He froze. A slender hand ran through his hair.
"You're here," he whispered, looking up slowly at the mirror above the sink. "How - did you follow me?"
"We have a connection, James." The woman in the mirror smiled. Her ebon eyes bored into his.
