When
you are in a house that is silent, except a heart throbbing, mysterious
pounding in the upstairs nursery, your first instinct might be to find
what is making the noise. You might even feel as Edgar Allan Poe
elucidates, “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to
dream before.” Were you possibly dreaming to see your long dead wife? I
must beg you to come out of that wishful moment and look at the facts in
front of you. There is that incredulous pounding coming from a room
formerly thought to be empty in an old house. A house thought unoccupied
just moments before. A house left to be sold by an estranged mother
who angrily committed suicide. After reviewing the former I would most
definitely advise you not to open that door.
You
have been in this bleak little town long enough to see people die, to
glimpse a dark soulless ghost and to be at least slightly knowledgeable
about the crazed mentally lost Jennet Humfrye who once lived there.
You
should have been told enough to know that Ms. Humfrye is a mother who
desperately fought for a child she didn’t have the mental stability to
care for. If her child had stayed he could have possibly by emotionally
wrecked and physically scarred in her care. The poor sweet innocent
child was killed in the depths of a marshland. This child’s caregiver
had been tricked into a visit like a rat eating craved cheese from a
trap. This distraught mother couldn’t handle what had happened to her
beautiful small boy. Dealing with the disparing loss led her to think of
only one option; she hanged herself.
This
relieving event caused the village to hope that this vicious woman
would finally be gone but their desperate plea was shattered by a line
of mysterious deaths. Village children were dying in simple painful ways
and at every heartbreaking death a sudden glimpse of the heartless
vengeful woman.
Shame
on you if you don’t believe in ghosts, Ghosts roam the earth right next
to the living. “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best
shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the
other begins?” according to Mr. Poe.
Mr.
Kipp, how could you be so mindless to open the door to the murderous
queen. This wench thrives on the blood of children and you do in fact
have precious son to protect. Your son is the only living person left to
carry on your late wife’s heir. Holding him in mind at the very least
should keep you from opening that door despite the curiosity coursing
through your veins. When the door to death is shut, it is most important
for that door to stay shut. Opening the door to the wicked Pandora’s
Box is not the option to choose.
If
you continue to feel the urge to go through that door that holds a
curse to haunt generations for eternity, you surely have an incredibly
sluggishly selfish mind. I am clearly explaining shortly and simply why
opening the door would be an idea that is as friendly and comforting as
an atomic bomb. Here I sit writing this letter even though a wiser
writer once said, “Words have no power to impress the mind without the
exquisite horror of their reality,” Maybe these next words will be
enough to impress your mind.
After
selling your soul to devilish Jennet, leaving your needy hands to shake
and perspire, causing your mind to become torn hopeless, letting fill
with bizarre, threatening voices causing your morals and dreams to be
ripped apart you will see.
I
can only hope that after realizing you have left your son to a gruesome
and heart wrenching fate. After seeing him die with a blank look rather
than a hopeful tear stained face. You will finally realize that block
of wood acting as a simple sturdy door, is the only thing keeping you
from this murderous tormenting woman with a flagitious mind.
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