HAUNTED MANORS 2. The House of November. November

In a small, forgotten town, there stood a house that no one dared to enter… They called it the November House, for it was only in that month that strange happenings occurred...

In a small, forgotten town, there stood a house that no one dared to enter - a house whose doors creaked open by themselves, as if inviting those brave enough to step inside. They called it the November House, for it was only in that month that strange happenings occurred.

 

Every November 1st, mist would roll down from the hills, wrapping the house in a ghostly shroud. Its once-grand Victorian structure loomed over the leaf-strewn yard, dark windows like empty, soulless eyes staring out into the barren woods. Rumor had it that long ago, a family had lived there - until one November night when they all vanished without a trace.

 

Curious locals told stories of whispers, faint and hollow, drifting from the house. Some claimed to have heard soft, childlike giggles echoing from the turret room at the top, while others heard the faint hum of a lullaby sung by a woman’s voice, trailing off into an ominous silence.

 

It was late November when Mia, a thrill-seeker drawn to haunted legends, decided to investigate the house with her friend, Jake. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and decaying leaves as they made their way up the gravel path leading to the front porch. Every step felt like the crunch of bones beneath their feet.

 

When they entered, the air was cold and stale. The shadows seemed to shift and cling to them as they explored each creaking room. In the parlor, they saw dusty toys strewn about the floor and, on the walls, faded photographs of a family frozen in time, their smiles twisted and strange. A woman, a man, and two children, their faces almost lifelike, as if watching Mia and Jake.

 

As they ventured up to the turret room, the whispers began. Faint, soft words that they couldn’t quite make out, growing louder with each step. And then they heard it �" a giggle. The chilling, innocent laugh of a child, followed by a woman’s soft, haunting lullaby.

 

When they reached the top of the stairs, they saw her: a shadowy figure of a woman in a tattered dress, standing by the window, gazing out into the mist. Her head turned slowly, her hollow eyes meeting Mia’s. And then, from behind her, two small children emerged, their hands reaching out, faces twisted with longing.

 

“Stay with us… forever,” they whispered in unison.

 

Frozen in terror, Mia and Jake felt their breaths stolen from their chests. They turned to flee, but the door slammed shut, trapping them inside. The whispers grew louder, surrounding them as the ghostly figures advanced. And then, silence.

 

When townsfolk came to check on them the next day, there was no trace of Mia and Jake �" only new photographs on the wall, their faces twisted in smiles that weren’t quite their own. And every November since, the whispers grew louder, calling for the next visitors to join the November House forever.

 

And so, the house waits each November, yearning for its next visitors, hungry to trap new souls within its haunted walls.

 

 

The November House's Hunger

 

The town spoke of it only in whispers. People tried to forget, to act as if it was nothing more than an old, abandoned building. Yet every year, like clockwork, new visitors would arrive - daring souls, skeptics, and thrill-seekers - each believing they could uncover its secrets or prove it was just an urban legend. And each November, those visitors would vanish.

 

The November House became a test of courage, a rite of passage for teenagers who had just graduated, and a challenge for ghost hunters who thought themselves immune to fear. But those who went in rarely made it back out, and those who did were never the same.

 

One November, a young investigator named Claire decided to approach the house. Claire was unlike the others - methodical, well-prepared, and backed by years of experience. She had read every account, every report of strange disappearances associated with the house, and she knew what to expect. Determined to be the one to break the curse, she carried with her cameras, EMF detectors, and charms meant to ward off evil spirits.

 

When Claire arrived, the house was waiting, silent and dark under a brooding sky. Bare trees loomed over the roof, their skeletal branches brushing against the house like bony fingers scratching for entry. The air felt thick, almost tangible, pressing against her as she stood on the cracked steps. As she crossed the threshold, the front door slammed shut behind her.

 

Claire took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay calm. Her camera captured every detail of the parlor, from the faded wallpaper to the dusty toys scattered across the floor. But as she moved through the rooms, her equipment started to act strangely. The readings were erratic, her camera flickered, and the temperature dropped sharply.

 

Suddenly, she felt a shift in the air, as if something had come alive in the house. A faint, ghostly music began to play, the melancholy notes of an old lullaby filling the rooms. It was the same tune she'd read about in old reports - the lullaby sung by the woman who had lived here over a century ago. As the lullaby played, faint, translucent figures appeared in the corners of her vision. Shadows moved, children’s laughter echoed, and soft, whispered conversations filled the halls.

 

“Hello?” Claire called out, her voice steady, but the reply was silence - an unnerving, almost suffocating silence.

 

In the kitchen, she found something that made her blood run cold. The walls were covered in scratch marks, claw-like and desperate, with faint traces of bloodstains on the floor. The whispers started again, louder this time, voices overlapping in a language she couldn’t understand. They spoke in urgent, broken fragments, as if pleading, warning her to leave.

 

Determined, Claire continued, reaching the grand staircase that spiraled up toward the turret. She could feel the air growing denser, the weight of countless souls pressing down on her. Each step up felt like wading through water, thick and heavy, as if the house itself was fighting her ascent.

 

As she reached the top, the turret room stood before her, its door slightly ajar. She hesitated, feeling an intense sense of dread. But she forced herself to enter, clutching her charm tightly. The room was small, circular, with a single chair facing the foggy window. And in the chair sat the woman from the old photographs - pale, with hollow eyes and a face etched with sadness and rage. She turned her head slowly, fixing Claire with a gaze that was both pleading and accusing.

 

"Why have you come?" the woman’s voice echoed, hollow and distant.

 

Claire took a step back, her courage faltering. "I wanted to understand… to end this."

 

The woman’s eyes flashed, and in an instant, the shadows in the room shifted, taking on forms - the children, the father, each with a tortured, twisted expression. They reached out, fingers like shadows, barely brushing against Claire, but she felt their touch like ice against her skin.

 

“You cannot end what you don’t understand,” the woman hissed, her voice mingling with the others until it was a cacophony of voices speaking as one. “We are bound here, trapped by our own sins… and by the sins of those who enter seeking to disturb our rest.”

 

Claire felt her vision blur as the room spun around her. Images flooded her mind - visions of the family’s life, the arguments, the rage, the dark rituals performed in desperation, all leading to that fateful November night when something had gone horribly wrong. The family had tried to summon something to bring them fortune, but instead, they had summoned something that took everything from them.

 

Now the house was cursed, bound to repeat the cycle every November, claiming anyone who dared to trespass.

 

Before she could move, the shadows closed in, and she felt her strength draining, her memories slipping away as the house absorbed her, adding her to its collection. She could feel herself fading, becoming one of the whispers in the walls, another shadowy figure waiting to greet the next unfortunate soul.

 

The townspeople found her car abandoned at the edge of the property a week later. Claire's camera was discovered lying in the driveway, but the footage was distorted, fragmented, showing only brief glimpses of dark hallways and spectral figures reaching out from the shadows.

 

And so, the November House claimed another victim, its hunger satisfied - at least until next year, when it would whisper again, calling for new souls to join it in eternal, haunted silence.

 

 

The Call of the November House

 

As years passed, the legend of the November House grew, whispered about in hushed tones in the small town, and spreading across ghost-hunting rumors and articles. People would read the stories and scoff, passing it off as folklore or overactive imagination. Yet for the daring, the curious, and the desperate, the November House was a challenge they couldn’t resist. Each year, a new group would venture up the hill, and each year, the house would grow a little more satisfied.

 

But the house was changing. With every soul it claimed, its hunger seemed to deepen, and the shadows within its walls grew darker and more restless. The whispers were louder, the figures sharper, as though each spirit it devoured made it more powerful. And the townspeople could feel it too; an oppressive weight seemed to settle over them every November, a silent reminder of the souls trapped within.

 

One chilly November morning, Sarah, a local girl with a deep connection to the town’s history, decided it was time to put an end to the curse. She was a descendant of the original family, the distant cousin of the woman whose spirit now ruled the house. Her grandmother had told her stories of the family’s desperation, their failed business, and the night they tried to summon fortune but brought ruin instead.

 

Sarah felt the weight of her family’s sins, and guilt churned within her, urging her to break the cycle. She spent months researching old books, piecing together the family’s ritual, and devising a plan to reverse the curse. If the house demanded a sacrifice, then she would be the one to face it and attempt to free the trapped souls.

 

Armed with a leather-bound journal containing fragments of the ritual, Sarah approached the house on a stormy November night. The air was thick with anticipation, as if the house knew she was coming. The front door creaked open on its own, revealing the darkened hallway within, and she felt an icy chill run through her.

 

“I'm here to end this,” Sarah whispered, clutching the journal tightly. Her voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the darkness. She took a step forward, her flashlight casting weak beams that barely pierced the shadows. The house seemed to come alive around her, groaning and creaking as if it were awakening after a long sleep.

 

As she moved deeper into the house, the whispers began, louder and more urgent than ever. They swirled around her, voices of the trapped souls, pleading and warning, begging her to turn back. But Sarah pressed on, her heart pounding, feeling the weight of each step. Among the voices, Sarah could recognize the faint voice of her friend Claire, who had gone to this house once after a neighbor gave her charms meant to ward off evil spirits.

 

In the parlor, the old family photographs were different. They were distorted, faces twisted with agony and fear. Claire’s face had joined the family a few years ago, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Sarah’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to continue, stepping up the grand staircase toward the turret room, just as her ancestors had done on that fateful night.

 

At the top of the stairs, the door to the turret was wide open, a faint glow coming from within. Sarah entered cautiously, and there they were - the figures of her long-lost relatives, as well as those who had vanished over the years, their forms barely visible, flickering like candle flames. In the center of the room stood the woman - the matriarch of the family, her face a mix of sorrow and wrath.

 

“You shouldn’t have come, child,” the woman’s voice echoed, heavy with warning and regret.

 

Sarah took a deep breath. “I came to free you,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “To undo what you started all those years ago.”

 

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and the spirits behind her shifted uneasily. “The curse binds us here, child. It consumes all who enter… unless a soul willingly stays behind to keep it contained.”

 

Sarah’s heart skipped. “A… a soul?”

 

The woman nodded, her gaze softening for a moment. “I made a pact, long ago, to bring fortune to this family. But the spirit I summoned demanded a toll - a soul to remain within these walls forever, to feed its hunger. We are bound by it now. And each year, it calls for new souls to join us.”

 

Sarah felt a chill spread through her veins. “But… if I stay willingly, will that end the curse?”

 

The woman nodded solemnly. “One soul, willingly given, can satisfy the hunger. It will break the cycle, and it must be a soul of our bloodline.”

 

The weight of the choice settled over Sarah. She looked around the room at the faces of her family, forever trapped in anguish and regret. She thought of the countless souls, like Claire, who had been consumed by the house’s curse, lost to the darkness. And then she thought of the town - the friends, the people she grew up with - who would finally be free from the shadow of the November House.

 

She nodded, her resolve hardening. “Then take me.”

 

The woman’s ghostly face softened, and she reached out a hand toward Sarah. As their fingers touched, a surge of cold electricity coursed through her, and the house seemed to sigh, its very foundation groaning as if released from a great burden. The other spirits began to dissolve, fading...

 

 

The Last Keeper of the November House

 

As the spirits dissolved, the matriarch’s hand lingered on Sarah’s, her eyes filled with both gratitude and sadness. “Thank you, child,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as it faded away, joining the others in a peaceful release.

 

But Sarah remained, her hand still outstretched, as if reaching for something she’d never grasp again. A deep chill settled in her bones, and she felt the house shift around her, as if taking a breath. The once-oppressive weight of restless souls was gone, but the house was still very much alive - and now, it was bound to her.

 

Slowly, Sarah began to understand the gravity of what she’d done. She wasn’t simply another soul trapped in the house; she was now its keeper. The curse had ended, but in its place, a new bond had formed. She would be the guardian, the one to ensure that the house stayed silent, its dark history sealed away from the outside world.

 

Days passed, blending into weeks, as Sarah became one with the house. She roamed its empty halls, dust settling over untouched furniture, shadows casting strange shapes on the walls.

She could feel every creak, every draft, as if the house itself were her own body. And sometimes, in the dead of night, she could still hear faint echoes of those who had once been trapped within - a distant laugh, a whispered word, a lullaby that drifted through the rooms like a memory long forgotten.

 

As the years went by, the town slowly forgot the November House. People stopped visiting, the stories faded into mere local legend, and soon, even those who once feared it came to think of it as just an old, abandoned building on the hill. Generations passed, and the house remained silent, hidden in the fog that blanketed the town each November.

 

But Sarah remained.

 

Over time, she grew attuned to the rhythms of the seasons, the subtle changes in the air as November approached. She found a kind of peace in her solitude, a sense of purpose in her silent vigil. She became a shadow herself, drifting through the halls, bound to the house yet no longer tormented by its hunger.

 

And eventually, Sarah’s memory began to blur, her own name slipping away like dust in the wind. She could no longer remember her life before, the faces of her family, or even why she was there. All she knew was the house, the walls that pulsed like a heartbeat, the rooms that whispered secrets only she could hear.

 

One chilly November night, a distant sound broke the silence - a voice, faint and curious, drifting through the walls. Sarah’s attention sharpened, and she moved toward the front door, which had creaked open, letting in a cold draft. She peered out into the misty darkness and saw two figures approaching, flashlights bobbing through the fog.

 

They were young - a boy and a girl, perhaps teenagers. They laughed nervously as they climbed the steps, daring each other to go inside, unaware of the ancient presence watching them from within. Sarah felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite place, an emotion she hadn’t felt in centuries.

 

The boy pushed the door open wider, and the girl hesitated on the threshold, looking around with wide, apprehensive eyes. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered. "This place is creepy."

 

The boy chuckled. "Come on, it’s just an old house. There’s nothing here but dust and shadows."

 

Sarah felt a strange pull, an urge she didn’t understand. She watched them closely, sensing their innocent curiosity, their thrill at stepping into the unknown. But as she looked at the girl, something flickered in her mind - a memory, a distant feeling, of a life before, of her own curiosity, her own courage.

 

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, but it echoed faintly through the room.

 

The girl gasped, hearing the ghostly whisper, and grabbed the boy’s arm. "Did you hear that?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Maybe we shouldn’t be here."

 

But the boy only laughed, dismissing it as a trick of the wind. He took a step forward, his flashlight sweeping across the room, illuminating the shadows that clung to the walls.

 

Sarah felt the house stirring, as if waking from a deep slumber. She understood now - though the curse was broken, the house still held a lingering hunger, a faint trace of its old, dark magic. If these visitors stayed too long, it might awaken fully, and the cycle would begin again.

 

With all her will, Sarah reached out, summoning every bit of strength she had left. She appeared before them, a translucent figure in a tattered dress, her face pale and solemn. The girl’s eyes widened in terror, and she stumbled back, pulling the boy with her.

 

“Leave,” Sarah whispered, her voice stronger this time, carrying a weight that made the air tremble. “Do not awaken what lies within these walls. Leave… and never return.”

 

The boy’s bravado crumbled as he saw the spectral figure standing before him. He grabbed the girl’s hand, and together, they ran, their footsteps echoing down the gravel path until the silence returned.

 

As the front door swung shut, Sarah felt a calm settle over her once more. She had kept them safe, had protected them from the darkness that still lingered within the November House. And with each passing year, she would continue to guard it, to keep the town safe from the hunger that still lay dormant within its walls.

 

And so, Sarah remained - the last keeper of the November House. Silent, watchful, a guardian in the shadows, ensuring that the secrets within would stay buried forever.

 

 

The November Mistress's Redemption

 

Sarah became a ghostly sentinel, the silent Mistress of the November House, watching over it with an unbreakable bond and a sense of duty that stretched beyond her mortal life. Years blurred and in her lonely vigil, she almost forgot her own name, lost in the role of guardian, the one who kept the darkness within the walls contained.

 

But on one particularly cold November night, the air around the house felt… different. A warm glow appeared at the edge of the property, piercing through the mist that forever clung to the house. Sarah felt drawn to it, a magnetic pull that stirred something deep within her - a longing she hadn’t felt in eons.

 

Emerging from the mist was a figure, tall and slender, cloaked in a soft, golden light. The figure stepped toward the house, their face hidden beneath a hood, but as they drew closer, Sarah recognized the aura surrounding them. It was Claire - the young investigator who had vanished into the house all those years ago and her best friend.

 

“Claire?” Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper, quivering with disbelief.

 

The figure lifted her head, and Claire’s face was just as Sarah remembered, calm and resolute, but with a softness, a peace that hadn’t been there before. Claire nodded; her eyes warm with understanding.

 

“Sarah,” Claire said, her voice echoing softly in the empty halls. “I’ve come to offer you release.”

 

Sarah felt a surge of emotion, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. She had forgotten what it was like to be seen, to hear her name spoken aloud. “Release?” she repeated, hesitant. “But… the house… the curse…”

 

Claire stepped closer, her ghostly hand reaching out to Sarah. “You’ve kept the house whose darkness contained for centuries. You took on the burden, breaking the curse that trapped so many souls. The house no longer hungers, Sarah. You’ve freed it… and now, you can free yourself.”

 

Sarah’s gaze softened, and the weight of the centuries lifted from her shoulders, a gentle warmth filling the void within her. For the first time since she’d taken on the role of guardian, she allowed herself to hope. “Then… I don’t have to stay here anymore?”

 

Claire nodded. “You’ve done enough. It’s time for you to rest. We've found a way. Hurry up!”

 

The room seemed to brighten as Sarah took Claire’s hand, her translucent form glowing softly. She glanced around the house one last time, taking in the faded wallpaper, the dusty furnishings, the creaking floorboards - each a familiar piece of her long vigil. She would miss it, in a way, but there was something beyond these walls calling to her, something she had waited so long to feel again.

 

As they stepped toward the front door together, Sarah felt her spirit lightening, the shadows of the house falling away. She looked over her shoulder one last time, feeling a strange sense of gratitude. The house, once a prison, had become her purpose - and now, it was letting her go.

 

The two women crossed the threshold, stepping out into the cold November night. The mist around the house parted, and for the first time in centuries, Sarah felt the open air, the weightlessness of freedom. Claire’s warm light enveloped her, guiding her into the unknown, beyond the boundaries of the mortal world.

 

And as they faded into the starlit sky, the November House stood silent, empty, and at peace. The townspeople never spoke of it again, the legends gradually fading into history. But on cold November nights, some say you can still see two faint figures drifting away from the house, their laughter carrying on the wind, finally free to move beyond the boundaries of the haunted mansion.

 

In the end, Sarah found her peace - a true, everlasting release from the November House. Her duty complete, she was finally able to rest, her spirit no longer bound, finding happiness in an eternal, quiet freedom.

 

A man with an intricate tattoo on his forearm shook off his T-shirt, stepping away from the burning mansion. He threw a handful of gray powder into the fire, and for a moment the air was filled with the strong scent of herbs. But the scent dissipated immediately.

 

The man nodded to himself and picked up his jacket with a sigh. As he put it on, he watched with a soft smile as two light shadows separated from the fire and disappeared into the moonlight.

 

He was pleased with himself, he had found a way to free the soul of a willing hostage of the house, not by destroying it, but by letting it go to a better world, to a new life he knew firsthand. He fulfilled the last will of Claire's spirit; he saw in his dreams.

He had been through a lot himself, having started his journey in the 19th century as a young novice in a Bohemian monastery. And during the years of immortality, he realized that there is nothing more valuable than the human soul and human life.

Reviews

[Relic]

Well done, Yana. This was a bit long but worth the read. I enjoyed the parts about people blending into the pictures, the overall story, characters, and the ultimate outcome.

Well done. :)

[Yana Larson]

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