Down the winding forest path leading deep into the woods, the blue, green, and orange van sputtered as it made contact with the road’s various protrusions; that is to say, if it could even be called a “road” at all. Perhaps another word would better suit the zig-zagging trail of dirt stretching into the heart of that interminable tree line.
Grinding to a halt in front of a large, peculiar mansion – seemingly displaced from centuries prior – the automobile unceremoniously gave up the ghost.
“Like, where are we?” the young man in the green shirt inquired of his four companions. He was not what one might typically describe as handsome, but there was a certain allure to his lanky appendages, scraggly beard, and… unique voice. It is entirely possible that, with a fair amount of grooming, he could be considered modestly attractive.
“I’m not sure,” replied the man with the orange ascot, “but it seems we lucked out – there’s a large house not twenty yards in front of us!” His cocksure demeanor and optimism instantly made apparent his friend’s lack of masculinity by comparison, though there was something vaguely irritating about the way he spoke.
“Gosh, that sure is a creepy old mansion, though,” interjected the woman wearing a purple mini-dress. She was conventionally beautiful – suspiciously so, in fact – but did not outwardly project any positive traits aside from that. It was obvious from the way she and the previous speaker made eye contact that they were regularly engaging in carnal relations.
Turning to a page in the large textbook she had been lugging around, the bespectacled, orange turtleneck-clad young woman spoke next. “Jinkies! According to the Encyclopedia of Haunted 10th Century Estates, that’s the House in Fata Morgana!” She gave off the impression of being a know-it-all, but not to the point of inherent obnoxiousness; she was simply well-read.
“Ruh rouse in rhat now?” the final passenger of the doomed vehicle asked. This one was not a human at all, but a brown dog covered in black spots. (Though my knowledge of the animal kingdom is embarrassingly limited, my impression is that he was a canine of the Great Dane variety.) None of the other four seemed at all surprised that he could communicate in English, however broken it may have been.
“The House in Fata Morgana,” the bespectacled woman repeated. “It says here that a witch lives there!”
“Wow, that sounds perfect, doesn’t it gang!?” the beascoted man exclaimed in response. He appeared to be the leader of the merry band.
“A r-ritch?” the dog responded, noticeably frightened.
“Now, xxxxxx, everyone knows witches aren’t real!” the woman in purple reassured.
“Oh, and not just any witch – a cursed witch!” the bookish young lady clarified.
“Zoinks! A r-regular witch is bad enough! Like, count me out,” the skinny coward declared, promptly exiting through the back door of the van.
“Reah, me too,” the Great Dane quickly nodded in agreement, following suit. However, the moment his quadrupedal frame touched the ground, he gave a quick glance back toward the mansion, and froze in place. The green shirted-boy was already long gone, dashing down the road.
“What is it, xxxxx?” the leader asked of his faithful hound.
“I… reel rompelled to renter… Romething is rrawing me roward it…” the dog replied in a hushed tone, his voice quivering.
[A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story, please comment and subscribe if you’d like to see more! Sorry this one is so rushed, I only had a few minutes to work on it this week because my grandpa is in the hospital (my dad poisoned him so we could inherit his property, but don’t tell him I found out!). I promise the next one will be better! ^___^]
Grinding to a halt in front of a large, peculiar mansion – seemingly displaced from centuries prior – the automobile unceremoniously gave up the ghost.
“Like, where are we?” the young man in the green shirt inquired of his four companions. He was not what one might typically describe as handsome, but there was a certain allure to his lanky appendages, scraggly beard, and… unique voice. It is entirely possible that, with a fair amount of grooming, he could be considered modestly attractive.
“I’m not sure,” replied the man with the orange ascot, “but it seems we lucked out – there’s a large house not twenty yards in front of us!” His cocksure demeanor and optimism instantly made apparent his friend’s lack of masculinity by comparison, though there was something vaguely irritating about the way he spoke.
“Gosh, that sure is a creepy old mansion, though,” interjected the woman wearing a purple mini-dress. She was conventionally beautiful – suspiciously so, in fact – but did not outwardly project any positive traits aside from that. It was obvious from the way she and the previous speaker made eye contact that they were regularly engaging in carnal relations.
Turning to a page in the large textbook she had been lugging around, the bespectacled, orange turtleneck-clad young woman spoke next. “Jinkies! According to the Encyclopedia of Haunted 10th Century Estates, that’s the House in Fata Morgana!” She gave off the impression of being a know-it-all, but not to the point of inherent obnoxiousness; she was simply well-read.
“Ruh rouse in rhat now?” the final passenger of the doomed vehicle asked. This one was not a human at all, but a brown dog covered in black spots. (Though my knowledge of the animal kingdom is embarrassingly limited, my impression is that he was a canine of the Great Dane variety.) None of the other four seemed at all surprised that he could communicate in English, however broken it may have been.
“The House in Fata Morgana,” the bespectacled woman repeated. “It says here that a witch lives there!”
“Wow, that sounds perfect, doesn’t it gang!?” the beascoted man exclaimed in response. He appeared to be the leader of the merry band.
“A r-ritch?” the dog responded, noticeably frightened.
“Now, xxxxxx, everyone knows witches aren’t real!” the woman in purple reassured.
“Oh, and not just any witch – a cursed witch!” the bookish young lady clarified.
“Zoinks! A r-regular witch is bad enough! Like, count me out,” the skinny coward declared, promptly exiting through the back door of the van.
“Reah, me too,” the Great Dane quickly nodded in agreement, following suit. However, the moment his quadrupedal frame touched the ground, he gave a quick glance back toward the mansion, and froze in place. The green shirted-boy was already long gone, dashing down the road.
“What is it, xxxxx?” the leader asked of his faithful hound.
“I… reel rompelled to renter… Romething is rrawing me roward it…” the dog replied in a hushed tone, his voice quivering.
[A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story, please comment and subscribe if you’d like to see more! Sorry this one is so rushed, I only had a few minutes to work on it this week because my grandpa is in the hospital (my dad poisoned him so we could inherit his property, but don’t tell him I found out!). I promise the next one will be better! ^___^]