Loony Cottage - By Upasana

 

At the very end of the winding lane, stood the crooked house all alone. The ivy found it a very cozy place to grow. The crickets had nested there for generations. An owl and its owlets had found it to be the most suitable place to subsist in. It was called the loony cottage. It was not really a cottage. At some chapter of unwritten history, it had been a magnificent palace. Now only its crumbling walls remained and a withering tower stooped down towards the long forgotten, weed-grown flower beds. It had been earlier called the moony cottage as the main bedroom was flooded with shimmering moonlight, wrapping in its silver arms all the belongings of the room. Now the house had earned the reputation of being haunted. Whoever had spent a night after the death of the last owner had simply vanished. Shockingly, even if they had died, their bodies couldn’t be traced.

 That evening was quiet as usual. A gloomy silence hung in the air.   The fog was caressing the top tender leaves of the trees. The wavy seas could be heard hitting the shore some distance away. The snow was cloaking every thing in white. An unwanted crunching noise disturbed the hooting owl. Someone was treading on the fresh layer of snow. Soon a sobbing Negro boy emerged from behind a thicket of snow covered bushes. He had lost his way in the dark drapery of night. Sighting the crooked house nearby, he gave a shudder. Gathering courage, his feet approached the Loony cottage. ‘Screeeeech’ announced the big iron gates as the boy pushed them open. His small sad eyes scanned the dust laden floor. He entered the great hall. At one time this hall had witnessed merry laughter echoing through its vastness. Some of the greatest banquets of the time had taken place here. But now silence and darkness was its only companion. The boy produced a small candle. Lighting it, he stared at the towering ceiling. Spiders had made long dangling chains of silky thread. Walking carefully, he started towards the large marble spiral staircase. The marble chips had worn out at many places. As he walked up the stairs, some more chips broke up under his weight. He found a large open door at the end of the stairs. He felt sleepy. Wandering alone in the night in the gigantic cold unkind countryside did not seem a good idea. It was better if he stayed in this loony house. So he entered the room. A shining pair of green eyes met his terrified ones. He almost swooned, when the bearer of the eyes swept pass his feet. He sighed, realizing it was only a cat. So finding a dirt laden creaky cot, he drifted off to sleep.

He was sleeping peacefully and wisps of snores escaped under his breath. Suddenly, a loud hollow scream made the boy jump with a stunned fear. Colour drained from his face. He made a grab his candle. His trembling white feet carried him towards a great big balcony from where the shriek emerged. There on a dull wall hung the portrait of a woman. She had a petrified look on her face. Her hand covered her mouth . The scream was coming from here. Her eyes contained a look of dazed horror. With hands shaking violently, the boy moved the painting. A chill of freezing cold gale slapped the boy on the face. He quickly let it go. But an indefinable strong force urged him to move the painting again. He felt his soul was sucked. Uncontrollably, his hand wavered towards the painting and pulled it off. Before him lay yawning darkness and biting wind wafted through. His body quavered and swung towards the gaping bleakness. He fell into the infinite emptiness. Down and down he fell, until he touched cold water. There was no escape. This was the tunnel leading to the sea. A buried mystery was unfolded to him, as he breathed his last like many other unfortunates.

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