The Manor

• Wilhelm Rocher, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2022

Last week I had seen the shrivelled old lady eyeballing my dog Max. When she had seen me staring, she smiled with her crooked teeth and walked away. The next day he was gone. I had waited, but with no sign of him I had no doubt she had stolen him, and nothing was going to stop me from getting him back.
It was common knowledge that she inhabited the manor inside the forest just outside the town limits. Innumerable attempts had been made to get her to move into a retirement home and knock down her decaying house and the small woods which encircled it to build a new neighbourhood, but she had managed to stay.
I kept making my way through the thick branches leading to her house. The slight breeze brushed against my face like a protector warning me to turn back. Here the ash black dirt was bare of life, the tree trunks hollow and rotten and their branches twisted skeletal fingers devoid of any sign of leaves.
I trudged on, pushing away emaciated tree branches and thick strands of abandoned spiderwebs from my face. I could see the trees breaking out in front of me and scarcely began seeing the manor. The sky had darkened, the sun only a minute spec of fading light, leaving way for the night. The misty phantom-like clouds would hide the light of the moon, meaning I would be completely in the dark. As I emerged from the trees, the wind warned me back one last time then was suddenly suffocated by the lifeless air which inhabited the area.
The manor stood in front of me, barely standing after all these years. Its decaying walls were splattered with mouldy green stains, the wood rotten and dead for years yet still clutching onto the walls which imprisoned it. The roof sagged, and the windows were boarded up, as if to prevent light from penetrating the eternal darkness which dwelled in the manor.
I made my way up the six crumbling steps leading to the front door, its worn red paint like smeared blood. I turned the rusted handle, which surprisingly creaked open. I peered inside. “Max?” I called out. “Are you there?” The inside was drenched in darkness. “Max, where-”
Singing. It was coming from below. I shivered. There was a trap door, which I slowly opened. The old woman was bent over a large bear-like animal.The hag stopped singing, and the animal rose. My blood froze. It wasn't like I’d ever seen, yet it was familiar. Its night-black fur, long bulging legs, and inside, ohh… sharp fangs like daggers. It looked like a mix between a wolf and… it looked up to me. Those eyes, Max! The witch heard me. “Ah!” she cackled, “I knew you’d come!” She turned to the beast that had been Max. “Get him, my dear, and shred his bones apart!”
I ran, but by then I already knew it was hopeless.