Gothic short story

Short gothic story introduction

It was the year 1890; a more specific date escapes me, when I finally approached the gates to the Loughborough estate. The driver of my carriage had been both a silent but comfortable companion. Together we had traversed much of the area’s countryside, sometimes on roads, often on simple trails to reach my destination, and although we could hardly call each other friends as I was paying for his company, my partner’s endearing strength had revived me once more. Moreover, I had clutched at the opportunity of his acquaintance, in some vague hope he could restore my previous sensation of family. Now, he was gone however, and the same sense of loss and abandonment overcame me as I stood, gazing, staring at nothing in particular and trying to collect and organise my thoughts and emotions from the shattered mess they were.
  It was raining heavily, the brim of my hat collecting deep deposits of water. My shoes squelched as, eventually out of my daze, my hands grasped the gate that stood in front of me. Peering through the bars, I beheld a wide period walkway, perhaps also a driveway of European construction. On either side the path was ornamented with one vast, ancient oak, their bark cracked and blackened from the rain. The path continued some way into the distance where I could just about make out a large structural manor, however the impenetrable deluge obscured any further detail.
  I released my hands from the gate and gasped! A sliver of pain ran down my left thumb, which I hence removed abruptly from the gate. My hand was caked with filth, rust and blood, however only a small nick was to blame, and leaning awkwardly down, I wiped my grimy hand upon a small grassy bank. Suddenly fearful my head snapped back up towards the gate, and I carefully examined it. Although having clearly suffered from many ailments, the foremost being time, it was spectacularly ornate and must have been a commendment to the magnificent architecture of its time. I approached it once more, and leaned on the gate hard. One half of the gate gave way in a sigh. A sigh I thought relevant, as I intruded upon a safe haven, where remnants from the previous century had collected to form the old fashioned world I was entering.
  I worked myself hurriedly down the walkway ahead, stopping sporadically to view my surroundings. As strange as it was, I found the whole atmosphere of the place stifling, and more than a little disconcerting. The cut I had received from the gate did little to reassure me. I even considered another, more sinister source as being the one to afflict the wound, but I quickly assured myself that this fanciful thinking adding to the cause. I approached the manor and found myself before a profoundly weighty oak door.........

As far as i have got...