It was an angelic morning amongst the beautiful meadow in Wiltshire, England. Springtime is the most beautiful time of year there, well I thought so. The grass was dewy and as moist as a freshly baked English muffin. The sky is radiant and blue and I waited for Mr. roger in the foyer for our morning stroll. Mr. roger is quite older then myself but I have known him since my earlier years. He’s tall like a tree, with a very skinny stature. His eyes are green and blue in the center, looking into his eyes is like gazing at a Caribbean ocean. His hair was slicked back and he always dressed proper with a suit, he was a gentleman.
We walked at a steady pace, and were silent as we looked out at the extravagant view. We had just bought a new house, due to our newly wed status. It was a large house, larger then the house I was brought up in. The house was large and white, placed in the middle of acres of land. Mr. Rogers came from a wealthy family so he was able to purchase such a breath-taking house. The house was white like paper and had tall ceilings, and red walls. It was antique and had a sense of eeriness within it.
At nighttime, especially, there would be loud creaks and mysterious gusts of winds throughout the household. The silence that was usually throughout the large rooms in the house was interrupted by these supernatural sounds. I was frightened but what I should do I did not know. Worrying, I cried a lot. I was scared and worried. Was the house haunted? Or was it just my ear hearing things. I felt as if there was nothing I could do; I just hoped for silence. The sounds would usually come from the attic, a small dark room on the top floor that consisted of old, dusty, and antique items from our past.
I was always curious to what caused these noises but I could never build up the courage to find out what it was. I would never go up to the attic, for it frightened me too much. However, after nights and nights of this constant murmur coming from the attic I had to do something. Because I was too scared, I sent my beloved husband to venture up there. As he walked up the stairs, creaking step by step; he walked slowly. I was nervous but kept silent. Just as he got up there a gust of wind slammed the door behind him. I ran up behind him but the door was locked, what to do now. I cried for help, I yelled his name but received no answer, I felt helpless.
For hours, no one could get in the room; it was as if a brick wall had been built behind the door. However, when the police came, they were able to knock the door down with using such force. What lie behind the door was more mysterious then it was horrifying. There, lie my beloved husband, dead. There was no blood, no wound, no nothing. This episode in my life haunted me for the rest of my life, just as the eerie spirits in that house that I believed kill my husband will haunt it forever.