Ghostly Marbles: A Salem Tale

 Henry Shepard stood at the end of a neglected driveway taking in the crumbling structure of an old home. Despite growing up in Salem's rich tapestry of myths about monsters and demons, Henry considered himself a skeptic when it came to the supernatural.The tales of the haunted house on Honeycutt Lane intrigued him more from a historical perspective rather than a belief in ghosts or spirits. He came to investigate its colorful history, being as this was the home of the famous witch accuser, Abigail Williams, In 1692.

 The sun lightly broke through the passing clouds, casting sporadic light on the overgrown lawn and weathered façade as he crossed the threshold of the home, Henry’s senses attuned to the creaks and rustles of the old building.  

“Dumb stories,” Henry murmured to himself, brushing off the sensation of being watched.

 He explored further into the mansion, appreciating the architectural details and the glimpses into a bygone era. The air hung heavy with the scent of aged wood and mold, a testament to decades of neglect. As Henry ventured deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, he occasionally paused to inspect a framed photo left hanging on the wall.

 Henry made his way to the second floor. The wooden steps groaned under his weight, echoing faintly in the stairwell. As he reached the landing, the air grew denser with that musty scent of neglect. Moving down the narrow hallway, Henry approached a door that stood slightly ajar, as he hesitated, contemplating whether to investigate further, a noise—a soft scraping sound—emerged from within the room. Henry froze, his heart skipping a beat as adrenaline surged through his veins. His skepticism momentarily faltered. 

The noise repeated, a rhythmic scrape like something being dragged across the floor. Henry strained his ears, his mind raced with possibilities—could it be the wind, a trapped animal? Henry heart skipped as he heard the scraping noise again, this time emanating from the attic above. Swallowing hard, he turned his gaze upward, scanning the hallway for the attic door. Dusty light filtered through a small, rectangular hatch at the end of the hall. Henry slowly moved towards the attic hatch.

 His fingers brushed aside cobwebs as he reached for the latch, feeling the cold metal under his touch. He hesitated for a moment; wondering if it were an animal, could it be dangerous? Summoning his courage, Henry unlatched the attic door and slowly pulled it open. A gust of hot air greeted him as he peered into the darkness above. He retrieved a flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on to light the narrow wooden steps leading up. Carefully, Henry climbed up into the attic when the scraping suddenly stopped. 

To Be Continued...