The House of Winslew
an excerpt

The inside of the house was bright and well lit, despite the unwelcoming essence that seamed out its walls. There was a living room right when she walked in that was covered by old velvet red drapery, parts of it well clawed by a cat. She looked through a small crack in the drapery to see a man in a wheelchair gazing at a fire place.
“Come on, “ the man gruffly replied, and he staggered along. She past various doors, some with roman numerals on them, some completely blank. All the doors looked old and water logged, mold coming out of a select few. She passed a few that were locked shut.
The man saw her looking at them. “Don’t ask for the key, “ he said squinting, “They’ve all been lost.”
“How do they get out?” she asked.
“They don’t. They’re dead inside. They have no reason to get out.”
She sniffed the air, as if to smell their pulse. All she smelled was stillness.