October PrepMo 2015

Contest Round 3: Setting Description

13 Curves should’ve been a majestic and regal home that took your breath away once your eyes set upon it. With all of the great limestone and the intricate carvings and the iron balustrades, even on the roof, it should be a home that demanded respect, instead it is a home that was abandoned and sends a kind of whisper up your spine. Often, houses that are haunted or “cursed” as this home is considered, have that kind of aura around it, whether imagined or not, it stays with whomever lays their eyes upon it.

There is something about that drive to the house, going around those curves and imagining what it must’ve been like in the mid 19th century, with a horse and buggy and realizing what awaited you at the top. Especially as there is nothing but trees as far as you can see as you climb. What must a trip in the darkness feel like? There is something about a man who would find a hill that steep to build his house upon, especially one as grand as the one he would come to build. The anticipation as you go around each curve, the elevation getting higher and higher, that in some parts of the year there will be fog that makes you believe you’re in some kind of mystical tale which often gets more macabre and ominous as each decade passes that it remains empty.

Finally, you come over that last rise and there it sets in all of its twisted and sinister glory. The trees open up, finally there are some spanse of grass, even a poor excuse for a garden to the right of the house, which seems to wrap around the back. The visitor will try to imagine it back in its glory, with the gorgeous garden and that fountain you missed before, working and hearing that soft steady stream of water. It looks dead, dead as the garden and the giant oak that lumbers over the yard.

The house seems like something out of your dreams, something out of a twisted fantasy novel. You notice there’s a porte cochere to the right as you bring your car slowly in that direction, finding your destination. You see the mansard roofs, the dormer windows that are placed just above the cornice line, the gable walls, the emphasis on corner quoining, the many chimneys, the elaborate pediments, the giant round veranda. As you round the house, you notice a partial dome of windows and it makes you wonder what grand room lies beyond.

You bring the car around some more, circling this great manse until you’re nearly under the grand porte cochere and the grand entrance door is to your right. All dark mahogany makes you wonder what made them shut it for the last time, what lies beyond it. Is the inside of house as egotistical as the outside?

There’s that slimy feeling in your guts as you climb out of your car. It’s day time, but it might as well be nighttime for all the good the sun does to make you feel normal, safe, average. Words that you are sure have never been used to describe any feeling, emotion, or description in regards to this house.

You wonder about the legend of the house and it makes you wonder how large this house would seem if there was no legend, no talks of curses and unseen horrors. Would this house just seem like a grand house located on a hill? Would the fog that graces the grounds so often seem like a fairy tale, the expectations of fairies and magic?

Evil is only in the mind, you think as you walk up the steps. Evil only has life if you believe. Though opening that door will either reassure that assumption or destroy it. Whispers buzz around your head; secrets and gossip fill your senses as you reach for the door. What will greet you, you wonder? Is it really just a house?