He passes me two glasses of I don’t know what, but as long as it kept me numb, I didn’t care what it was. I pass a glass to Christina and follow him blindly into another room.
This room was a little different to all the other rooms I’d been in, it had an open fire that filled the room with warmth, black chandeliers hung from the ceilings and paintings of people I didn’t recognise adorned the walls but in someway even though it followed the same gothic decor of the rest of the house, somehow it was more airy and light.
I slump down into one of the brown leather chairs that sits by the opening fire, allowing the flames to heat my bare legs as I sip on the drink he had given me.
He sits opposite me in the other chair and Christina sits on the arm, leaning close to me as we await the tales of the spooky house.
“Victor Riley built this house in 1729 for his beautiful wife, Rebecca.”
“Oh, this sounds juicy already.” Christina’s eyes very nearly bulge out of her skull while she hangs on his every word.
“Wait, this is the Riley house?” I ask.
“It hasn’t been called that for centuries, but yes, you’ve heard of it?”
“I think I read it in a history book.” I mutter.
“You like to read?”
“Oh yes, I love to read.”
“Boring, can we hear the story?” I scowl in her direction. I never had an intelligent conversation with anyone and she just ruined my favourite subject.
“We can talk about your books another time.” He winksand I’m not sure if his words make me blush or it’s the heat from the fire that causes my cheeks to burn.
More people pour into the room to listen to his story about the history of the house that has caused rumours to soar for as long as I can remember.
I’m not sure what it is, maybe it’s that his voice is smoother than the cream cheese on a bagel that draws you in, or the fact that his deep voice makes your knees weak, all I know is when he speaks I’m entirely entranced and can see nobody in the room but him.
As he tells his story, it’s like you’re transported back to time, watching the events unfold, like you’re there with him just as a passenger.
It was 1729.Victor Riley had lived his entire life in Hollow Hills and while he was a simple man who never cared for the grandeur, when he married the beautiful Rebecca he wanted to give her only the very best.
She was his world, and he wanted to give her everything he had to offer, when he married her she was just a simple girl who lived on the family farm tending to the animals but Victor knew as soon as he set his eyes on her that she was the woman he was going to marry.
He built this very house you see yourself in, of course it’s had some renovations over the years but there are some things that still inhabit the house, I think it gives it character to leave some of the original workings that Victor built with his own hands.
He moved into this home with his beloved Rebecca and thatshould be the end of my story—they lived happily ever after or some bullshit, but there never was a happily ever after.
You see, Victor had some dark tendencies, not that he ever acted on them, well not until he lost Rebecca at least.
They say it drove him mad to be without her, that she was the only thing that kept him sane, but who knows, maybe he was always mad.
Monsters aren’t those gruesome things from another world that hide under your bed. Monsters are people and until you meet one, you’d never know what kind of monster resides in the person you’ve known your whole life.
We all have a little beast inside of us. It’s whether we choose to let the beast out of the dark and to step into the light.
“So what happened to Victor?”I ask, completely enthralled by his story.
“There are rumours that he did some hideous things up at the asylum and the patients got their own back, but who knows what’s fact or fiction. I guess the only person that truly knows is Victor himself.”
“What did he do?” Christina asks.
“That’s a story for another day. Wouldn’t want to give you nightmares now.” He winks.
Nightmares? Was it really that bad what he did? I didn’t know, and Ashton didn’t seem to want to share what he knew. I was curious where he got the stories from because we had lived here our whole lives and never knew the original owner’s name, let alone a gruesome tale.
“Now, is everyone ready for tonight’s game?” He claps his hands and his eyes swirl with mischief.
