This is some horror-fiction type thing I, Dragonleaf5678, have written from scratch. Just please don't edit this; if you want to edit it, just leave me a message.


At first I was flabbergasted that my parents had announced that we were moving on Saturday the tenth of April from our cosy Victorian terraced into a vast castle situated in the-middle-of-nowhere.


My father, an avid doctor, brings back thousands of pounds to our current house every day, but now, after making huge amounts of profits because of a promotion of his, he's managed to elevate us into the billions—yes, I mean billions. He has acquired a new job as a journalist (he was appointed by one of the owners of The Guardian), which is primarily why we're moving in the first place. My mother, a former optician, cares for my four younger brothers - Nicky, Mickey, Ricky and Dicky - and contributes to our dwelling by polishing furniture, cleaning up the toilet and virtually anything house-related. A housewife, you could say.

Myself, Thomas Lee Capricorn, am a passionate lounge-hogger, internet-surfer and professional amateur - yes, you did hear me correctly. I once studied journalism when in university, fortunately I passed with a few B's in my hand, but I've had no plans to ever 'get out of the house'. As such, I've decided to "put my talents to good" by writing this supposed story, although I doubt anyone will read it; there's nothing much else to say. I'm 26, vulnerable to everything and I have a particular weak spot for ghosts - this is why I've been dreading moving to a big Georgian castle, in the middle of nowhere. My parents keep saying that I should "shut up once-in-a-while", but right now I have no good reason to do so. It seems like such a contrast that I've seen the sunlight: I haven't seen sunlight for around three years.


Tomorrow we're moving. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss this house. I've been to visit the castle a few times before, and it's nothing like this house, no no - there's nowhere to put your feet up, there's nowhere to slide down stairway bannisters, nothing - it seems like the exact opposite of what I was hoping for: leisurely, comfortable and warm - yes, that reminds me, there's no central heating. I've just finished packing my video games consoles into boxes, and I've finished taking chewing gum out of cracks and clearing graffiti from our towering walls. My sister, Stephanie is already finished taking photographs of her preferred bands down from the high corner of her bedroom. After my mum was done wrestling a screaming Dicky into his high chair, she called me down for supper, the last supper under our current roof. The same as always, spaghetti - but there's a saying with spaghetti, never forgetti.

After supper had concluded, at around 6 'o' clock, my best friend Donald visited to say his farewells; we'd never see each other again. He departed not soon after, leaving us with a present of some sort. Then I shivered. Donald was always a keen trickster and, besides, he'd never leave a gift behind without it imploding upon contact. I decided to tear off the wrapping paper in small chunks, and I'd gradually make it to the present: I found myself sitting in the presence of a Lego Techno, and all I did was smile. Typical Donald. Mother told me to sleep at only 8pm, as we were in for a long day tomorrow. But it's hard to sleep when you're moving. For me it is, anyway. On the contrary, I was able to get around ten hours of sleep in the end.



Well, it's finally here. Moving day. As impossible as it seemed, it actually happened, and came, and went. It happened in an instant; I had breakfast, brushed my teeth, and left at only eleven in-the-morning. Better yet, eleven-in-the-mourning. As our new house was situated down south near Bath, we had to take a train to navigate: trust me, being trapped on a densely-populated train is not the greatest experience. Shortly after we arrived, the distribution truck came and went, dropping our mountains of possessions onto the marble castle floors. We commenced "feeling-at-home" by placing ornaments, cleaning windows and generally indulging our tidiness. After all, all of us have inherited clean living standards from our own flesh-and-blood. After unpacking, we settled in by installing central heating as, due to my long string of relations, my father knows a guy who can install just about anything in a blink.

In addition to the central heating, he also set up a wireless modem and repaired our bathroom. I, of course, just sat down in front of the television. Even though I was dreading it at first, this new house seems too good to be true. Because of my curiosity, I'm going to investigate each chamber of the castle; apparently my room is the highest room in the castle itself, atop the inside of the steeple, so there'll be a good view. My room's also the second largest, as expected, my parents are having the master bedroom. Outside my room is the landing near the winding stairs, which lead to essentially every room in this dwelling. There's also a telescope in my room and plenty of space for technology, and additionally it is connected to a toiletry. My quadruplets (Nicky, Mickey, Ricky and Dicky) are all sleeping in the dormitories on the third level near the larger lavatories. My sister is occupying the room directly below my own, the room with all the stained glass windows. My parents are using the brief storage room on the fifth floor, with a perfect overlooking view of the terrace and patio and the colossal, seemingly neverending lawn. The manor house also features a parlour, a main passage, a bedchamber, a dining room, a study and a pantry, and the main theme of the house is 'baby blue', as the window trim and doors are a lighter tint of aqua. In the garden, there's a grand view of the sea and a swarm of bamboo as well as the main patio and terrace. There's also a few wooden benches scattered around the area. A few oak trees tower above the unkempt grass and strawberry patches, and the chrysanthemums are flourished with active bees and butterflies: the aromatic and luminous scent of the honey washes my nostrils with warmth. The superior clematis sits upon the stone pergola and gateway arch, with beautiful pear and apple trees producing their daily share, the distinctive roses in bloom, and the subtle buddleia blending in with the crowd. Cherry blossoms tint the garden with their pink beauty. Tulips and bluebells gleam, surrounding the area with their blueness whereas the poppies shimmer with their redness. The magpies swoop around in swift motions, rambling around in the air depositing their droppings and plucking the berries from the vibrant bushes below. In the midst of the four acres of grass stood a sturdy and formidable sycamore tree, its branches flashing with sap. Lobelia hanging baskets glide from the doorways, darting around vigorously and erratically like a washing-machine-on-the-spin-program. But then I began to ponder. How was the garden awake and lively?, I thought to myself. I began to gradually fall into a bamboozled state, and my brain walked away from the thought. The front garden is nothing near as welcoming as the rear garden is; it is somewhat a different dimension. Thorns huddle together in a mighty tangle and dead trees graze upon the Georgian brick. Damaged hanging baskets glide by a thread in ways like no other, with spider webs stuck to the rotting window trim.

Next door to us is an abandoned farm, which is that of an eyesore; it's believed that the farmhouse has been swatted, but I, on the other hand, am highly sceptical to even a remote chance of that. Of course though, I'm sure my rambling about the house has interested you so little. Let's talk about the cons of the place. Since it was abandoned around sixty years ago, most of the windows are blighted and all of the lights need replacing. Additionally, the entire mansion is ridden with bugs - literally. But it still annoys me how the garden is so neat yet the rest of the house is in need of mass revamp.


My parents have managed to clean the house up a bit, but, strangely, when I awoke, all of the neatness had been changed. I thought I was dreaming. All the furniture had been moved around, and I could have sworn that I heard a piano during the night; after I told my parents, they told me that 'it's probably just the boys, and that you're imagining things as it's a sudden difference for you.' Can you believe it? They still don't think in the slightest that what I'm seeing and hearing is actually true.

Just like any normal day, I proceeded to eat breakfast, filling up on the usual, Coco Slops. All of my brothers decided to reach up into the high cupboard and pull down all of the cookies and doughnuts my father was given as he was leaving his fellow workers to work under the new occupation of journalism. The tangible benefit of it is that, if I can bribe them or blackmail them enough, my quadruplets will easily give in and hand over a good proportion of their feast, so I had virtually had enough in my system to keep me going for at least another few days. I decided to explore the house a bit more, and there's even more rooms than we thought: I counted, 72. Although I could have sworn that there was 71 the last time I checked. After enough poking around, I discovered something strange - directly below my bedroom, in my sister's bedchamber, because some of the wallpaper was peeling off, I decided to peel even more until I found the message 'YOU SHALL DIE HERE' written in a red substance, and, I know it couldn't have been either of my brothers as my sister is adamant and reclusive, so she doesn't let anyone disturb her when she is 'having some alone time'. I did know that the house has essentially been in remnants for years, but honestly, I'd never expected something as farfetched as this. Because of my general suspicion, I decided to study at our local library and, after enough searching, I had tracked down several books that had content about the past of our house. I was astonished when I read through the pages. After a collection of gasps, the entire library had been washed with darkness, and all I could hear was movement. Swift movement. Something was going on but, in an instant, everything went back to normal. I felt on the urge of bellowing with fear moments before the entire scary event happened. I decided to take all of my books home to read in my parent's room as it's far too wild for me in the ground floors. After around three hours of reading, I was flushed with suspicion. On page 42, where content about paranormal activity in my room, everything was blank. I stared in confusion. Before I even had time to think about what I had seen, I just wandered downstairs for supper. As I walked down though, something felt different - I just couldn't put my finger on it. Ignoring what just happened, I dawdled downstairs.

After consuming a stir fry and salad dressing, I dashed upstairs back into my bedroom. I felt determined to find out what had happened in my room those sixty years ago, primarily relying on the internet. I could barely find anything, but I did find some clues: someone was murdered on the 20th of April, 1964; almost six years ago. They were murdered in this area, by someone known as "Cole Portsmouth", whom had murdered twelve other victims in the period of 4 years. The person who was massacred apparently ran the farm next to our house, and the killer lived here. As I thought everyone else would think I am being silly, I decided to keep the facts to myself. Before I could research any longer, all the lights began to flicker aimlessly and sparks flew; the floor began to shudder. So did I. I fell to the ground and gasped in shock. A white figure began to emerge out of the scarce light source, and said words that were too high-pitched to hear; with a blink, the figure disappeared along with the darkness. Everything was back to normal. For now.


I haven't written in five days due to lack of happening around the house. I visited the library numerous times within the week, and I even investigated the depths of my room, and I found nothing; but I did find that I now have a mystery on my hands. The 20th is in four days, and I'm expecting something catastrophic, yet amazing to happen. After I searched the closed section of the library, I finally found that the person was murdered in my room on the 20th of April, and that "it is said that the ghost of the dead person now stalks the mansion forever", although it claimed that it was just a myth; a legend, a folk tale. I started to piece things together, and I found that our house was abandoned because the murderer ran away after the incident, and has never been seen since. Because the story is so outspoken, the house has been rearing demolition as no-one will buy it.


You'll never guess what happened; what came,

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