• Staring up at the old Silverstone Manor, I couldn’t help but remember the warning that Mr. Moore gave me only hours ago…
    “Ms. Porter, please reconsider,” Mr. Moore begged, “Haven’t you heard the stories?”
    “Yes, of course I have. Why else would I come?” I replied. I couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed. I was now a young woman of 18 and decisions such as this were mine to make.
    “I know you need some more ideas for your latest series, but the old Silverstone Manor is dangerous. Don’t you remember how Old Mr. Miller disappeared shortly after entering the woods around the manor?” His words did have great meaning to me. The old man had been a close friend, but I wasn’t going to give up because an old man got lost in the forest.
    “Oh, would you stop telling those old curses of yours! The old manor may be haunted, but that’s it. It not cursed!” I told him angrily. I wasn’t going to lose this fight. I was going through that forest and into that house, no matter what.
    The wind rushing through the trees blew my hair into my face. Brushing it aside, I started toward the manor. It was old all right. Made of brick and stone, it looked more like the castle of Dracula than an average old manor. There were vines of ivy creeping up every window; spider webs clung to the staircase, deck, and door. The knocker was in the shape of a man biting vigorously on the metal ring. I was half expecting there to be stone gargoyles on the roof but alas, nothing but roofing tiles.
    As if the outside wasn’t strange enough, the inside was. To me it seemed to be a calibration of the ages. Old roman statues, and an average phone. No lights, just windows, and candelabras. Shortly after entering, I began to sense a presence, similar to when one is being watched. I pushed the feeling aside and continued to go further into the manor.
    I heard it then, the soft lull of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” Someone or something was playing a piano; I knew it wasn’t a recording do to the slight incorrect pitch of several notes. Intrigued, I walked in the direction of the music.
    The music led me into an old fashioned library. I was so amazed by my new surroundings that I barely noticed that the piano had stopped. I looked around the room and sure enough there was a grand piano. I walked over to it and slid my fingers across the keys; they were dusty and unused for years.
    “Maybe this place is haunted,” I said to myself. I was never quite a believer. I wanted to be, but I was always looking for a scientific reason behind supernatural things that happen.
    I thought I heard the curious meow of a cat, but turned and saw nothing. My opinion on the supernatural was slowly changing. If it had been any other house, any other place in the world, I would have said things like; “My imagination is getting the better of me,” or, “I’m just hearing things,” but there was something about the manor that made me believe.
    It would be night soon. I pulled out some matches from the desk and lit the candelabras. As I lit the last one I turned to find that all the others had already gone out. Suddenly, they all relit. One by one, like a domino effect. My heart raced, but my mind remained calm. There was no way I was going to leave because of some candles.
    I calmed myself then started to take in my surroundings so I wouldn’t have any more false scares. From where you walk in there are bookcases on the right and back wall, a desk in the far right corner, the piano was in the left corner, a couch on the left wall with a window above it, a coffee table in front of the couch, and a spiral staircase in the middle that led to another floor of books.
    Hopefully now I wouldn’t scare myself. I walked over to the coffee table and picked up a book that had been left there. It hadn’t been touched in years. The dust on it was so thick that you couldn’t read a word. I brushed the dust away and read the title, Poetry. Curiosity got the better of me and I flipped it open to a random page, it read:
    “Never was there a story of that with more woe than that of Juliet and her Romeo,” as said in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. It also spoke of Edger Alan Poe’s famous quote, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive.”
    Just as I set the poetry book down, a book flew off the shelf and hit me square in the face. As it fell to the ground, so did a drop of blood from my forehead. My self-control vanished in a terrifying instant. I ran for the double doors and frantically tried to open them. I tried and tried again, but it was no use, the doors were locked.
    “Calm down, calm down.” Talking myself into calming down wasn’t working. I tried to think of a scientific way that book could have hit me. Finally, I thought of something. This manor is old and unused; I’d be willing to bet that there are mice and rats all over the place. If one were to rub up against that book it could have fallen off the shelf, I was standing fairly close. As far as the door, it might have already been locked and opens from the outside. It seemed ridiculous, but I was sticking with it. I didn’t want to think about it too much and scare myself again.
    I decided that I would look around the library for the key to the door. As I was looking around, I noticed an old fashion journal on the desk; the cover read, Diary. I opened the cover, “This book belongs to Irene Silverstone.”
    “Irene Silverstone, huh? This manor must have been hers.” Curiosity got the better of me once again and I continued to read.
    June 1st, 1915-
    My beloved was to meet me here today. I wonder what could be keeping him?
    June 5th, 1915-
    He still hasn’t arrived, what could have happened to you, my love?
    June 1st, 1930-
    I have been waiting here, all alone, for fifteen years, where are you? You were to come, and take me away! Where are you? I can’t leave; he was to come…
    December 18th, 1930-
    I feel as though my heart has frozen along with the Earth. On this day I declare my heart a fallen soldier to the deceit of love.
    March 20th, 1931-
    I curse all who come to this place! May all of you wait here, as I have waited! May all of you suffer, as I have suffered! And die, as I will die!
    The sad words had a strange ring to them, which spoke words of revenge, hate and grief. I pitied her extremely and my heart sank as the titanic had. As I stared at the words in the last entry something strange happened. A new entry wrote itself, on today’s date!
    April 10th, 1990-
    Forever shall I wait, for the one who sealed my fate.
    Terror caught at my heart, I dropped the diary and ran for the door. I pushed and pulled, kicked it, did anything I thought might get it to open. Alas, nothing worked. As the realization of my capture sank in, I fell to the floor. As I sat holding my knees, on the cold library floor, I wondered how many more souls would fall victim to Irene Silverstone’s wrath.
    I came to this house as a writer, not knowing that I would never leave this place again; for I, the writer, have now become the story I tell.