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Creative writing slaughterhouse five



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    It was soundless as I walked outside the taxi. The midnight moon as hanging over an enormous desiccated tree. It was the only thing which could be distinguished. Suddenly, the shades of several ravens raised upon the moon and then vanished into the darkness. Walked towards the tree as the filling Of dizziness increased. It was due to that hideous smell coming out from the soggy ground… Which was all covered with crimson blood stains. The frequency of my breath increased vigorously.

    My terrified eyes searched for the light which was supposed to designate the car, but it couldn’t be seen. The car was gone. It was a 15 minute walk to the nearest village, but there was a problem – I didn’t know where to go. So I fussily rushed forward into the foggy darkness of unknown… In a short time the mysterious facade of an archaic mansion could be seen. It was an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. I stopped for a second to catch my breath and than came closer to the gates of the mansion.

    They were all ramified and decrepit. As pushed the gates I could feel the crumbs of dried cold paint on my shaking fingers. The front yard (at least what I thought it was) was deserted as if a hurricane vanished everything away. I came up closer to the massive door. It was just like one of hose castle doors with a heavy metallic knocker which has a bulldog face on it- the symbol of death. I knocked the door three times and it opened as if inviting me in. The grand piano stood in the middle of the room illuminated by the light from the moon.

    There were old crumbling stares behind the piano. I could hear a dreadful sound of the wind coming out from the second floor. The hallway was almost empty, though there was a dim candle on the dusty coffee TABLE which allowed me to study the entire room. It was a wide place, with massive windows through which I could see a parched tree. The shades from the tree looked like fingers of some horrifying monster. There were broken cornices above the windows. The curtains were burned, so as the wallpaper.

    The smell of dust and dirt made me choke when I came closer to an enormous fireplace. Feeling very distressing I looked at the ashes in it. That could’ve been my imagination, but I saw a picture of an intimidated face. Suddenly the shade from the candle swayed. I looked up and saw a dusty chandelier slightly swinging above me. Right when I took a step back the chandelier chopped down on the rousted floor as if someone had cut the oboe. Millions of tiny pieces of glass reflected the moonlight and lit the whole room.

    The desperate scream came out of my mouth… And a silhouette of a figure appeared on the stairs. As he walked down, the archaic stairs were cracking and cricking. I was just standing there shacking in terror as if my feet were glued to the floor. The man came so close to me that I could actually feel his heavy breath. His grey hair, dried and wrinkled skin and inky eyes all looked very distressing. I held my breath and the man said: “Everyone should know that the Death Valley is called death for a reason… ”

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