Curiosity kills, but I refused to understand. The wind howled outside as the full moon glared like a ghost’s pale eye. Beside our small, humble home loomed the crooked mansion, its creaking wood and lifeless, gnarled trees shrouded in thick, salty fog. Rumors whispered that the mansion was alive, haunted by its own grim secrets. Naturally, I didn’t believe it—at thirteen, I had read enough horror comics to brush off such tales.
Our house was no more than a hut compared to the mansion towering over it. I claimed the attic as my bedroom, lying in bed that first night staring at the ceiling as the house settled around me. Despite the uneasy air of the place, my curiosity buzzed like a restless spirit. Eventually, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Morning broke with my mother’s voice echoing up the stairs. "Blake! Time for breakfast!" I rolled out of bed, rubbing my eyes, and groggily shuffled to the washroom. After splashing water on my face, I stared at my reflection, a grin creeping across my lips. Today, I’d explore.
Downstairs, the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon greeted me like an old friend. I devoured my plate in seconds, earning a disgusted eye-roll from my older sister, Leslie. “What are you doing today?” my mom asked as she flipped pancakes for Leslie.
“Exploring,” I said with a grin. My mom raised an eyebrow skeptically, while my dad chuckled from the staircase. “Don’t go too far, alright?” he said, winking. “And take some bandages,” my mom added with a worried look.
Before they could say more, I pulled on my boots and dashed outside, my excitement uncontainable. Standing before the towering mansion, I gazed at its ominous outline in the fog. The wood creaked eerily, and the dead trees swayed as if watching me. My grin widened with mischief. “I’ll go in there,” I murmured to myself, stepping toward the massive doors. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
