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Promptober #3: Haunted Mansion: You are trapped inside a haunted mansion. Describe your daring escape and the eerie challenges you face along the way.
Buck had warned the team but no one, not even Chris had listened. As long as he had known the blond, as many things as they had gone through together… for once, it would have been nice to been heard. Especially about this. He was not really surprised the three youngest had blown off his warning - Ezra, Vin and JD were young and only believed in what they ‘knew’ was real. But Josiah, with all his sermons and esoteric studies or Nathan with his peoples beliefs or his wife’s. But no. And now.
“Guys,” he tried his comms again. Nothing. Not even static. Cursing softly under his breath, Buck gingerly made his way along the wall where the floor was the most solid, his arms wrapped tightly about his middle.
The wall was shabby now, but once it had been beautiful. Even in the faint light, it was still eerily elegant. Pale wooden panels rose from the floor to his waist, he would bet it had been some golden wood. Above that was what had been painted wallpaper, now tattered, but the patterns were still there - a vista of the mountains from over a century earlier. He leaned his shoulder against it, shivering as he fought a cough from the dust that fell when he did so.
“Whoever came up with a meet in an infamous,” his words were soft, subvocal as he looked around. He had to keep up his narration, if this was a prank, he wanted a trail. If it was not a prank, the others would want to know… if the equipment actually recorded everything.
He ducked, more on instinct than actual visual cue as an axe slammed through the air and into the wall. His eyes widened as he stared at it for a moment.
The air grew icy and his breath became a mist. Again.
“Too close,” he murmured. “Axe this time,” he recited, eyes locked on the axe. It vanished. It was not pulled out of the wood. Did not go into the wall, it simply vanished.
“And it’s gone,” he muttered, eying the eight inch gash it left behind. He could see the lathe work and old paper stuffed into the wall as well as the heavy, hundred year old oak joist that had stopped the axe. “Second floor, left front room, definitely was occupied.”
He took a shallow breath, glancing down for a moment. Then he straightened, approaching the doorway. It was tall, dark wood against the darker opening leading to the hall. The carved patterns in the wood reminded him of fancy, twisting candle sticks. He paused there, leaning against the doorframe. “Okay. So. Bad floors. Floating axe. Heavy hitter,” he warned. He glanced down the dark hall toward where he knew the main stairs were. “Angry ghost… ghosts,” he recited. His breath became mist again, a fog drifting in the air in front of him. He bit back another curse. “Again.”
Moving as fast as he dared, Buck took two steps, out of the large chamber and into the narrower hall. The floor creaked in concert with a high-pitched shriek. Something sounded like it broke or fell. The air around him shuddered. Cursing aloud this time, he dove, curling around himself in an awkward, panicked forward roll.
Behind him came the brittle sound of breaking wood. Something, a large, heavy something, crashed - loudly - into the wooden floor. There was a pause and a groan. More wood creaked and the building shuddered. Then another crash as something broke and fell through with a loud, pained series of crashes.
Buck felt the impact of his shoulders on the floor. The speed and force of his impetus kept his body moving, flipping so that his boots touched down briefly. He used that brief impact to push off, gaining more distance. Under the force of his body’s contact the once ornately patterned carpet, now a dim, moldering cover over old wooden boards turned to dust. It moved with him, rising like a miasma and clinging to his clothing, filling his mouth, his eyes, his nose. He was still fighting for air, trying to see when he hit the post at the far end of the hall. It hurt. “Hall clear,” he managed painfully over the wails.
Instinct kept him down. The dust, broken plaster, wood chips showered down on him. He looked up to see the axe buried in the wainscotting just above his head. It was locked tightly in the place where the wall met the banister, deep enough that the blade was almost completely hidden.
Barely taking a moment to breathe in the dust laden air, Buck forced himself to his feet and fairly flew down the stairs. His work boots thudded loudly as he caromed from side to side, avoiding any straight lines as best he could. Unlike the narrower passages on the upper floors or the servants stairs he had used earlier, this staircase was wide, made for show and impressive entrances. The wood, while worn and battered by time, felt solid under his boots.
The main floor of the mansion was eerily empty, the uncovered windows letting in the moonlight, allowing him to see just how empty it was. He had half hoped to see his team in the entry, waiting for him and laughing at his panicked flight. But all he saw was the opulent entry, with its wide flowing wings to either side of the angled curve of the main stair. Dust drifted down, dancing and glittering in the air around him and settling, briefly, on the carved rails and spindles.
The ballroom, once as long as the side of the ancient home, was now a wreck. Fallen timbers, flooring and what must have been a chandelier filled a good portion of it. Glittering glass and crystal reflected the light, spun it out in incoherent fragments. Old, but still intact stained glass along the front hall cast shadows where no shadows should be, painted terrifying shadows against the walls.
“Main… floor in sight,” Buck gasped as his boots hit the inlaid parquet that formed the wide, showy landing above the mansion’s main entry. Two turns to safety. Twenty steps.
The shrieking, broken laughter followed Buck down the wooden stairs. He could feel it behind him. Gaining ground. “Ah, hell,” he gasped, managing to free one of the hands clasped close to his middle. He grabbed the railing, vaulting down towards the square entry that Ezra and Josiah had been so thrilled to see.
Even flexing and moving into the landing hurt. “Marble,” he groaned as he came to a stop against the fireplace. And why did old mansions have marble fireplaces in the entrance, he wondered as he rested his head against it for a moment. The moon had turned the green stone almost black. The dust still drifting in the air made the paler marble cherubs glitter menacingly at him.
Somehow, he was on his feet. “Almost,” he could not hear himself over the haunting, piercing shriek that echoed through the empty vestibule. The door was open. He could see it. He could see the porch and the steps down to the yard. Safety was on the other side of the threshold.
A faint whistle in the air was a warning. As was the glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A far too familiar voice called his name with an unfamiliar thread of pain.
The door was right in front of him.