In front of Emma loomed the rusty iron gates, blocking the entrance to any intruders to the building its boundaries hold. She could see from the chipped black paint, ivy vines crawling their way delicately around each iron bar, before settling the tips at the top of the once upon-a-time impressive curvature design. Ugly orange rust decorating the holes of paintwork. Thick chain and padlock securing the two gates together, trying to ensure no-one enters through them. If that wasn’t enough of a ‘do not enter’ sign, the old, weathered and forgotten warning sign tied to the gate, was obvious enough.
‘WARNING BUILDING LIABLE TO COLLAPSING. DO NOT ENTER.’
Of course Emma was going to ignore that sign, and the pad locked chain. She was going to enter, as had many of her fellow classmates have done before her. Before she continues her journey, she takes her camera out of its safety bag, and starts snapping away. The clicking of each print taken breaks the silent air. There isn’t even any wind. Pity Emma thought, the wind would have added to the beauty of the climbing ivy in her lenses.
Before she got too carried away and filled her memory card up with thousands of captures from the front gate, she continued in her mission. Her photography professor had set them the assignment of showing beauty where it is deemed to be none. As soon as it was announced, Emma knew she would come to the Sinclair Mansion. Standing derelict for decades, she knew that she would be able to capture so many perfect shots for her portfolio, especially from the once beautiful architecture alone.
Climbing up and over the gates was an easy task, Emma being slim and fit coming in handy. She had pre-prepared before making her car journey here. Ensuring her long brunette hair was twisted up in a tight bun, her clothes were tight enough to not snag on any possible loose derelict objects, but slack enough to give her wriggle room. Matched with her trusty sneakers. She was prepared to make a quick exit if anyone else came to the property.
The mansion is a known sight for parties, many of her classmates came to them and told her all the stories. Of course she had been invited along to them all, but Emma has never been a huge party goer, declining the invites in favour of spending time in her red room at home, peering over her favourite snaps of the day.
She could see discarded bottles and wrappers within the confides of the overgrown lawn, it isn’t the prettiest of sights, but still Emma stopped to take a few snaps. They are the reminder of fun this place has held. Which is beautiful in itself. Emma was always good at seeing the good in things, deciding a long time ago she would rather be optimistic, than pessimistic.
Walking closer to the deserted large building, she kept her camera glued to her face. Taking shot after shot all around her. Even in the moonlight, she can see the remainder of the red brick glowing. The few windows still intact, how large and beautiful they no doubt once were. It is a pity that this building was left to rot and be vandalised, instead of being cared for and preserved.
Emma didn’t know a lot about the buildings history, only once upon a time a Lord lived there, with his wife and two children back in the 18th century. There was a great tragedy where the wife and children had perished or left, Emma wasn’t sure, and the Lord was left to roam the huge building on his own. He had shut himself away, no longer throwing balls, dismissing majority of his servants, and kept himself in isolation until one day, he was no longer there. Everyone had just assumed he died. Even the history of the building is depressingly beautiful.
The large solid oak door stood in front of Emma. Still clicking away on her camera, trying to ensure she gets the perfect angled shots. The door is slightly open, unsurprising with the amount of visitors this place gets. And with the state of the garden, it is unlikely any of them had manners enough to think to shut it to preserve the beauty inside.
Pulling her camera away from her face slightly, she gives herself a quick pop talk of not to be afraid, and it’s just an empty old building, before she builds up the courage to walk the couple of steps and inside.
There hasn’t been any reports of any hauntings, and for that Emma is relieved. If there had been, she certainly wouldn’t have come, well not alone anyway. The grand open foyer still lives up to its name, in size only. The walls are peeled, the staircase mostly broken. Dust lingers heavily in the air, the room has been completely cleared out, no personal artefacts grace the space. The chandelier that Emma could picture had once stood graceful and proud, is still hanging, but there are no Crystal’s or candles attached.
Turning her head torch on, parts of the room light up with each turn of her head. Even without the decor, Emma could see the beauty in the room. The sweeping staircase, the double floor heighted ceiling, the old panelling on the walls. She could only imagine what it would have looked like in their golden days.
Emma was too busy taking photo after photo, that she missed the eyes watching her intently in the corner of the darkened room. Normally the usual intruders are kids looking for a place to party and decimate more of the beautiful building, but not the woman currently being watched.
She had eyes of wonder, every new corner she takes more and more photos. The owner of the eyes has watched and seen the world change over the many years they have walked the Earth. Some things have changed for the better, but in their mind, most have changed for the worst. People are on the worst list. In their day people had respect, respect for each other, property, hierarchy. Not anymore. Yet something tells them that this mysterious woman isn’t like all the others that has entered the property uninvited.
Emma slowly moved from the foyer through to what she assumed to be the drawing room. There is a few chairs left lingering, cigarette burns and stains covering there once plush seats.
Paintings on the wall have been ripped apart or have been spray painted. A lone grand piano in the corner, stool missing, as well as all but one white key. The large windows, or in fact just window, as the other two were smashed through, was surrounded by ripped curtains. Emma couldn’t tell for certain, but she would imagine they had a velvet feel and were thick. The fireplace was covered with littered empty alcohol bottles. The walls the same condition as the foyer.
Still able to see the beauty in the derelict, Emma continues to take as many snaps as she can. Once finished she made her way out and back into the foyer, following her light through to the dining room. The room is as grand as it should be, she was shocked to find the table still there and intact, if not a little beaten and battered. No chairs except one, and all the windows had been smashed. The room is colder than the foyer or the drawing room, she wasn’t sure if that was because of the windows, or the bare emptiness of it. There is a feeling of loneliness in the rooms, and this room stands out the most.
Unlike the other rooms, this one had a family portrait intact and on the wall. Emma presumed it to be the old Lord of the house, stood behind his beautiful blonde beauty of a wife, and their two smiling children at her feet.
“They looked happy.”
Emma’s voice echoed around the almost empty room, sadness tinged within its depth. Although she didnt know the true history of what happened, all she concluded was whatever happened, the Lord was left to die alone. In the painting he has been painted with love grazing his moss green eyes, as he looks down upon his little family. It’s a contrast to his strict pose, strict styled hair and pressed suit. But Emma could see it, they were happy, well they were whenever this painting was commissioned.
