Michele

         The homework was getting to her, she decided. That and staying in a big house alone for a weekend with a scary movie marathon on TV. Maybe. Sitting on the couch for the better part of three hours trying to read the philosophy of Anselm and half-watching the ancient Boris Karloff had been the epitome of her weekend.
         Michele sighed and tossed her book onto the cushion next to her, half-wishing it would explode and get her out of working.
         She’d been given permission to raid the fridge, and took full advantage of it, pulling out a quart of mint ice cream. It was black outside, the light from the living room and kitchen keeping the night outside at bay. Each of the windows mirrored back a reflection of her staring back through blonde tresses, ice cream scoop in hand. Michele consciously decided that her reflection was a silly thing to be afraid of, and stuck the ice cream back in the freezer. She walked back to living room, grabbed the remote from a fold in the couch and turned up the volume. Frankenstein was just beginning. She took a decorative pillow from nearby and cradled it, sprawling out onto the couch, forgetting all about philosophy.
         
         She stood on a path, surrounded by a small clearing. Twisted trees clawed at anything they could grasp, darkness seething into the gaps between them. There was no color. That was the first thing Michele realized. Silence was the next. There were no ambient sounds anywhere around her. She attempted to call out for anyone, but her speech was distorted into a reverberating drone resonating off the trees.
         The sky was hard and unrelenting, an unblemished grey curtain stretching behind the crossed branches of the tree line. Small light flecks were silhouetted against it and were slowly making their descent to the ground. It wasn’t cold enough to be snowing out. Michele caught one in an outstretched palm, and brought it to eye level. It wasn’t cold, but warm, and it dissolved to a fine powder in her hand. It was familiar, but she couldn’t place it further.
         She turned and an enormous mansion loomed before her. Three tiers of windows stared back from beneath a steeply sloped roof. The surrounding trees seemed to fade, showing deference to the intensity the house exuded. It watched her as she stood in silence. She crossed her arms nervously, and with a glance at the wall of trees, she made her way toward the mansion. As Michele approached it, she could make out the ornate carvings bordering the double doors, and vines tore at the walls. Up close she could see the paint was beginning to chip and crack, and claw marks covered the door in deep gouges.
         Michele recoiled slightly at the shock of how cold the handle was when she grabbed it, and the door swung open with little force. She poked her head around the frame, glancing at the innards of the house. To her right was a small cove that sheltered coat racks. No coats were there. A long desolate hallway stretched before her. Half way down on the left was an opening, a doorway she presumed. The floor bowed with a warbled groan under her feet as she walked through the hall, echoing down into the darkness further on. The decorative molding frayed between the wall and the floorboards, and there were dark boxes stained on the walls where paintings once hung. The only door in the hall was slightly ajar; Michele pushed it open further with a cautious nudge and looked in.
         The room was two stories tall, the second floor little more than a balcony that looked down over the first. A waist high wooden barrier separated the two. A small girl in a winter coat and beret sat drawing on the floorboards, crayons strewn all about her. A statue of the archangel Michael driving a spear into the prone snarling form of Satan stood behind her. The statue was framed by two mirrored staircases curving up to the second story.
         “Hello.”
         Michele started at the small girl’s voice. And crossing the room to get closer to her, Michele noticed how much larger the statue of Michael became. Standing next to it, 
         “It’s rude not to say hello.” The girl continued to look at the floor. She was finishing the head of a tall stick figure holding the hand of a smaller stick figure in a beret. The stick figure of the little girl was holding onto what looked to be a stuffed rabbit with her other hand.
         Michele began to speak, but the odd oscillating noise replaced her speech again, and she covered her mouth to make it stop.
         “What are you trying to do?”
         Michele grabbed a crayon off the floor near by and began to write.
         Why can’t I speak, and you can?
         The girl looked up at Michele. Her eyes were gone. Flesh had grown over the sockets like there had never been eyes there. “You keep trying to use your mouth. Don’t. Just think about it.” She got up, climbed up the base of the statue, and on to Satan’s torso.
         “Your eyes are missing,” Michele thought.
         “Father says Michael took them as punishment for being bad.”
         “You can hear my thoughts?”
         “I just hear words.” The girl made her way up into Satan’s outstretched hand.
         “Where is this place? Do you live here?”
         The girl made her way off of Satan’s palm and back to the floor. “It’s time to go now.”
         “What?”
         “It’s alive.”

         Michele woke with a bowl of half eaten ice cream melting on the table in front of her.
         “It’s alive!” Dr. Victor Frankenstein shouted from the television, gloriously standing over his creation.
         She grabbed the remote and hit the power button.
         Michele wandered out of the living room and stopped in front of an enclave that was a dining room not too long ago. A new grand piano sat where an antique table used to be, odd considering none of the family played. She sat on the cold bench and rested one hand along the keys, thinking of something to play. Michele pressed down, and a D minor chord resounded through the enclave and the adjoined den.
The sadness of the chord did nothing to quell her uneasiness, so she stood back up and proceeded up a spiral staircase toward the bedrooms. The walls were stained an off white by the lights, and lined with paintings which were all ancient by design.
         “Why in hell did these people need such a big house?”
         She reached the guest bedroom, and plopped down on the queen-sized bed. The bed was on the back wall, and there was a large window on the right that looked out into the mountains. The entire room was burgundy and dark wood, oddly dark compared to the rest of the house. There was a set of dressers with various pictures underneath the window, and an adjacent bathroom, but no television. Michele went into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.  The click of the light switch broke the serenity of the room. She climbed into the bed, pulled the down comforter up to her chin, and thought about what homework she still had.
         Michele awoke to a complete and resounding silence. She sat up and let her eyes adjust to the dark. The moon glared in through the window, throwing shadows across the bed and all around her. There was a bright glint shining on the wall next to her. She looked over and saw an upside down cross burned into the wall by bright streaks of moonlight. That was when she noticed it. The shadow of a figure on the far wall. It was not cast by any light source. Two eyes stared right back at her. It just stood and watched.
         “Don’t be silly, it’s just a reflection of something.” She spoke under her breath. Forever passed as she slowly crawled back beneath the blanket. She shut her eyes and all was black. A soft prayer echoed in the room as a bell in the distance tolled dawn.