The Haunting of Beacon Hill by Ambrose Ibsen

Author:Ambrose Ibsen [Ibsen, Ambrose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-19T22:00:00+00:00

14

There existed in this house a darkness so dense and perfect that in entering it one couldn't help but fear becoming coated in it. August crossed the threshold first, nose twitching as he breathed in the scent of accumulated antiquities, and Sadie was close behind, one hand pressed to the weathered stone arch of the entryway. The LEDs in the flashlight, however bright in other circumstances, could only rasp at the darkness found here—could only punch minute holes in the black fabric, thus adding to the impression of a tar-like and tangible air. It was clear that if they meant to advance at all with such a weak light, they would be forced to do so very slowly.

The whine of centuried wood sounded at their heels—the only noise to be heard from inside the tremendous building, and a very jarring one at that. In its years of abandonment the reign of silence had been well-cemented here, and as the creak of the floors subsided and the duo fell still, the rule of quiet was imposed with still greater harshness. It is said that silence can deafen; till she'd entered the ruin on Beacon Hill and sampled its sepulchral quiet for herself, Sadie had never grasped the meaning of the idiom.

The air was still—chokingly so—yet seemed pregnant with an animate portentousness. Only moments ago, she recalled with a shudder, she had glimpsed a face in an upper story window. Where was that face now and to what ends was its owner scheming in this miserable place? For all Sadie knew, the glimpsed figure stood three paces ahead, or presently leered from some yet-undiscovered corner. The very notion that something should choose to exist in a setting such as this troubled her profoundly. A cold fear, as of being well out of one's depth, began to rack her; the fear, perhaps, of the minnow leaving the shallows for darker, uncharted waters. She watched August soundlessly wave the light, cognizant that he might just reveal the Kraken with the next flip of his wrist.

They ventured deeper in; not, perhaps, of their own volition, but drawn thence by the gravity of some unseen force lurking somewhere in the blackness. Some paces into this first room—a foyer? A large hall? The weakness of their flashlight made it difficult to scope out its exact dimensions with any certainty—and already the daylight ringing the entryway struck her as powdery and distant. Their shoes clopped against the timeworn boards, and the air they encountered further in was over-seasoned with notes of grime and decay. They paused at hearing something scamper in the distance, perhaps a large rat or other animal, but no chasing of the noise with the light could reveal its source.

August sniffed loudly, placed his forearm up against his nose. “This place has been empty a long, long time,” he whispered. “I'll bet it's been like a hundred years since anyone last lived here.” He cast the light upward in a survey of the ceiling and found—either for its great height or the weakness of the LEDs—that he couldn't see it.

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