[Damn you Roph for deleting this. :< Tell me what you think, btw]
The Flaming Autumn Tree
Part One
I opened my eyes to see darkness. My physical eyes opened and I saw light cascading from the window; the dust visible through it, floating lazily. The curtains heavy with dust, the whole room was draped in a thin layer. The whole rooms crimson color was visible everywhere, from the rug and the curtains to my bedsheets and the heart redwood drawers. Sitting up, my bones ached and creaked. This house was new and old, standing for hundreds of years and I have only resided here for 3 months. I felt like I was carrying something strange and distant from me, nothing that felt comfortable, nothing I was used to. I threw off the sheets, and stood up, the blood rushing to and fro in my body. My eyelids felt like falling down, I was leaning forward slightly and had to step forward from falling into the wooden floor under the rug.
There were 35 rooms in this house, 33 of them were originally built with it. A sun room and a library was added, the sun room on the ground floor facing the backyard and the library in the stone tower, which was previously empty to the top. The tower used to hold an observatory built by residents at least 300 years ago. It promptly fell, due to all the weight. The residents at that time were a man and his wife. His wife was atop the observatory when it fell, and she quickly died. It wasn't long before the man committed suicide in the sun room. I locked the door to that room since the day I got there and haven't been in since.
I know this because an earlier resident, not the original though, purchased a blank, quite thick book kept in the cellar away from light and moisture. Each following resident inside has written in this book, a red leather book held together by a rusty iron latch, the lock broken. They write of changes to the house, how they are feeling, strange things about it and etcetera. The 44th residents are the ones who built the observatory, the 58th residents were there when it collapsed. I am the 97th resident. Every person before me has moved out or died in this house. I'm sure it wasn't long after it was built, at least 3 families or persons later that the idea to keep a book was conceived. The book doesn't have yellow, cracking pages because of its' unusual well care, but you have to be careful with it. The first time I cracked it open, I accidentally tore out a page belonging to the 29th resident, an old man who kept to himself, worked as a writer. One of his manuscripts is in the library.
Just to get a change of looking at this house, I stepped into the cellar for the first time in weeks. The first 2 weeks I was here was spent moving in and rearranging furniture. In between that, though, I was reading all of the book. Some residents were mundane, while others threw massive, elegant parties. 2 residents had not written in the book, which was noted by the next resident. 3 people have died here, 1 suicide, 1 from falling in the stone towers spiral staircase. The last one was noted by the resident after word as unknown death, but still death. The falling person was an old man, about to die anyway. The resident who died unknown was an elegant woman who spent most of her time outside, in the city below the hill.
The house itself is somewhere between a large cottage and a castle. It should be considered a castle, but it was a summer home for a king, this area was once ruled by the Dutch. Below is the city of Raine, a large, nightlife city. Stone streets, neon lights. Not a tourist attraction, this was a city that needed residence to see the grand scale of all the small things hidden away behind the chains and commercial stuff. Ancient shops, hidden nightclubs, gambling and bars all in nooks and crannies, paid for by the few who knew of them. Above the city was this castle, overlooking the town. This castle was given to me, I am supposedly the 3rd person to live in here who is relatives to the king in some way. Once I was found to be a relative, a man called and told me to move out of my house, then explained this castle.
Built of stone, inside mostly wooden. The whole house is made just to my liking. Many rooms are empty, only some full of my little possessions. Before I lived in a suburban Seattle home, the rainy weather and ocean side appealing. And obviously, I live alone. In some way I feel compelled to find new places, but this castle is too good to just leave off. My profession is to put words on paper and pack them together to sell to people so they can read and classes can try and understand the deeper meaning. In laymans terms, I am a writer. Science Fiction, mostly, but I never believed a word of it. Aliens? Phh. Cheap.
The cellar was cold and dark, but dry as well. I was fully awake now, thanks to stepping on concrete with bare feet. The outside was now a warm summer day, but the castle was cold as always. There the book was, sitting in its' same spot. Tucked away between an empty wine shelf - Emptied by the 83rd resident - and a barrel containing God knows what. I've read through it 2 times, once during the first two weeks and once during a huge blackout. This house seems to compel people to write in it often, detailing things about the house. I reached to grab it, but stopped. What was the use, it would be the same thing as before. There was nothing else to write in it. I shook my head, turning around and walked upstairs, back to the main floor. I looked from the hallway to my left to see the sun room, two padlocks on it. One key was in the book, another was in the library - under a pile of books long since read.
I've also gone through every single book in the library. The room consisted of a small circle, book shelfs all around, except for the door. A heavy set rug and an old crimson chair linger inside, gathering dust. I don't know all of the books in the library, but I have at least cracked them open and read the first chapter of each one, or at least 20 pages. Some I have finished, some I haven't. I'm hardly ever in the library, something else than dust seems to linger above the air. I turned away from the sun room and walked down the hall, to the right, then in the left door to scale the spiral staircase to the library; in which I opened the door and walked in, sitting down in the chair and relaxing, the back of my mind playing a soft piano piece that formed into the moonlight sonata. I stared out the window, which overlooked a bright green tree, ancient and knotted, leaning to the right.
Discord
Light Style