Carter House

 

Carter House

Most people don't remember the Carter house. The old stone Victorian manse sits in solitude north of town, its crumbling structure perched on one of the hills and lost in a maze of pine timber. The place is protected by a fallen bridge over a raging river and the rains have eaten away the better parts of the road.

No one goes up that way much. A few brave hunters venture up there once or twice a season, but they usually don’t go back. A few teenagers take the girls up there to prove their bravado, most don’t make it across the ruins of the old bridge. The ones that do tell crazy stories about crazier things seen in the haunted mists that swirl in perpetuity about those hills.

I know because I used to be one of them.

I was brash, young, and foolish. I wanted to prove myself. I thought myself fearless.

Now I know better. Now I am afraid.

Something is awake in those hills and the Carter house is the fulcrum.

Whatever happened up there is only getting worse.

It is spreading.

Fear.

Madness.

Death.

I am the only one who can stop it. I have to go back. I have to go back and face the terrors of Carter house. God help me, but it is the only chance we have.

You betcha. This was another writing for theProse. It just kind of popped into my head based on a challenge that I did not do. I picture a house in the woods of the Pacific Northwest where it is rainy and foggy. Deep dark woods with larges trees, ferns, and moss covered rocks. I really enjoy writing these little snippets!