Excerpt: The Calling

The tree swayed in the breeze, leaves crackling like a small symphony. The sounds of mice scurrying in and out between the gnarled roots were the only sign of life. The tree resided in a yard filled with decades worth of debris and decaying waste. The house itself had once been beautiful, with towering marble collums and steep steps leading up to a now rotting mahoghany door. The tree was the only plant that still seemed to be able to remain upright.
Leading up to the house was a narrow, rounded path of stones and turned up dirt. Animals had dug away most of the good soil so now it merely looked gray, devoid of any colour. The whole courtyard was the same colour. No one had wanted to live there. No one, until now.
Standing at the wrought iron gate was a young woman. Her hair was a golden colour, laced with a slight wave towards the ends. She was tall and graceful, almost like a dancer, and observed the world through big blue eyes. She was without a doubt model material. That was why it had shocked everyone to know that she was moving into the wrecked Red Mansion.
The Red Mansion had been given its name after its original owner was murdered within the grand hall of a foyer. No one had ever figured out who was responsible but everyone had seen the mess the crime had left. There was a theory that not only Margaret Rost was killed in that hall, but several of the old town’s residents. The mansion had been dubbed Red Mansion after people had seen the blood that was smeared like paint over the white walls. It had never truly come out, so now the walls were a pale pink after being left to fade for over eighty years. Nevertheless, Isabelle Hawthorne stood outside the gate with her chin held high.