The White Room

The White Room....a room in an old Victorian style house which was built in the late 1600s....after the deaths of its previous owner in 1875, anyone who entered the house, was never seen again...

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2. The White Room

I pushed open the door and a dazzling white light blinded me. Shielding my eyes in protection, I shut the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to this extreme brightness. Silence. I looked up terrified, waiting to see what was waiting for me. Aha…this must have been the nursery. I couldn’t help but notice the rocking chair, which seemed to be rocking ever so slightly, but I told myself it must be my eyes. I looked around and nearly screamed in horror. About 2 pairs of eyes stared back at me in the whiteness. I slowly took a step forward and realised there were 2 dolls staring back. Recalled my sister having one of these dolls where I remember you twist a piece and it plays a tune. I reached out a hand and touched the dusty doll. I jumped back. No I must have imagined that. Was I really going to believe that this doll had just turned up to look at me? No. I knew something creepy was going on. I took a few steps back, keeping my eyes on the doll’s faces. I nearly fell back as I hit the huge wardrobe. I whipped around and slowly pulled open the wardrobe handle. A huge creak broke the silence of the night. There was nothing. Nothing but cobwebs. And a small box. I picked up the small box and thrust it onto the floor. I could feel hundreds of years worth of dust under my feet- why? The floor felt like soil. I opened the box, expecting to find books and toys, but to my surprise, there was about a dozen letters. I opened one of the letters. It dated back to about 50 years ago. It said, ‘’Dear Victoria Clement, I am very sorry to hear about the death of your only daughter, you are welcome to come and live with us. You must be very lonely having lost the most precious things in your life- your husband and your daughter, whom you gave every inch of love to. Love from your sister, Janice.’’ And attached to the letter was a black and white photo of what was unmistakeably, a photo of Victoria, her husband and daughter. I could recall seeing that first portrait downstairs and knew it was her. I opened another letter and this time felt a shiver down my spine. It was clearly written in something which was not quill and ink. Something which horribly looked like blood. It said ‘He killed her.’ I found, attached, a death certificate which said, ‘’Name: Beatrice Clement, Born 1901, Died 1914, Reason of death, Murdered, Guilty: Richard Clement (died .15) - suicide.’’ I put two and two together. The husband had killed their daughter and ran away. He had felt bad or been depressed and committed suicide. He had left a broken hearted wife and done a runner. I closed the letter. I ran to the huge mirror. Something had caused me to look into it. I looked into it and saw my reflection. I screamed. No, I had just imagined it. Had I just seen Victoria’s face in the mirror? I ran to the window where rainwater was silently dripping its way in...

 

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