The Secrets of Dunharrow House

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  • Published: 14 May 2017
  • Updated: 20 Jun 2017
  • Status: Complete
When three siblings are called back by their eldest brother to their childhood home, a major family secret is revealed, and everyone is in danger.


2. Home is Most Definitely NOT Where the Heart Is

I loved the house as a small girl. It seemed to have endless hallways, endless adventures. Everything was back in time by a century, from the fading rugs to the chandeliers to the creaking wood steps. There were even secret passages, if you knew where to look.

Mom always kept the hallway lanterns lit. Some of them were actually kerosene lanterns. My sister and I used to explore the passageways, holding bobeches with lit candles, holding our hands in front of the flames so they wouldn't go out as we giggled our way through the dark corridors between the walls.

The entire house glowed with life. It was a soft, warm glow. It truly deserved to be called a home.

Now, though, it deserved to be called "DUNHARROW HOUSE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE."

The entire place reeks of mold, mildew, and stale seawater. The walls are slimy and the ground squishes beneath your feet.The main chandelier has come crashing down, making a crater in the foyer. Looking to the right into the living room, the furniture sags and the chimney has caved in. Same with the adjacent dining room. 

Several rats scurry across the floor, making Michaela shriek. I snicker and she shoots me a dirty look.

"I know it's not what it used to be, but I think we can do something." 

"Andy... this place is beyond repair," says James, shaking his head. "I don't know what you were thinking. We can't do anything for the house."

"But we have to try," says Andy.

"I have an idea," I offer eagerly. Michaela and James stare at me as if I've lost it, but Andy steps forward. I smile, and deck him in the face. Not enough to break teeth or anything, but enough so he gets the message.

"Ow! What the fuck, Bea?!" he howls, cupping his jaw.

"That's for making me waste my time coming up here with these yahoos," I tell Andrew. I glance to James. "No offense meant to you." James shrugs. I don't acknowledge Michaela. 

She's a yahoo.

And a bitch.

"Fine, fine," grumbles Andrew. "But I'd still like your guys' help in getting some old stuff from the basement. Photographs and such. There's some really neat stuff down there that I don't think should rot." We all mumble our awkward consent, and Andrew begins to lead us to the basement.

I get a strange feeling in my stomach when he gives a twisted, pained smile before he descends the steps.

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