Prologue
Beneath the velvet canopy of the night, a solitary car traversed the peaceful country road, its progress etching a faint trail of light through the otherwise impenetrable darkness. The world around it was cocooned in a profound stillness, punctuated only by the distant whisper of the nocturnal wind. The desolate Great Southern Highway seemed to stretch onward without end, its vanishing point obscured by obsidian shadows that danced on the periphery of perception.
Within the vehicle, an elderly couple embarked on their homeward journey through this nocturnal realm. Behind the wheel was Alex Murray, his gnarled hands clutching the steering wheel with a sense of purpose that belied the late hour. Beside him, his wife, Heather, occupied the passenger's seat, her presence a source of quiet strength amid the enveloping night.
As the car wound its way through the obscurity of the Western Australian outback, Alex's weariness was evident. The dark interior was suddenly awash with the stark glow of the car's digital clock, casting a harsh contrast to the surrounding darkness. The luminous numerals on the clock face, with an uncompromising glow, revealed the ungodly hour, as if marking a meeting with fate itself: 1 AM.
"Bloody ridiculous hour," Alex grumbled, his voice tinged with irritation.
"Oh, come on, you know how it always is," Heather replied, her voice calm and understanding.
"Yeah, every goddamn year," Alex grumbled, his frustration unabated.
"Yeah, but It's her birthday!" Heather pointed out, her tone softening.
"I get that, and you know I love birthdays at the York Golf Club as much as the next man, but she doesn't have to keep us there until one AM, plying you nonstop with gin," Alex retorted.
Heather looked at him, clearly offended by his comment. "Yeah, well you had some too!"
"Yes, but not nearly as much as you. One of us has to drive, remember," Alex countered, his expression unyielding.
Heather turned her gaze away, staring out of the car window. She mumbled quietly, "I can drive fine, just as well as you."
"Clearly," Alex remarked, sarcasm lacing his words. He focused his attention back on the road, but as the night wore on, his head began to droop, his eyelids growing heavy.
"Oh my god!" Heather suddenly exclaimed; her voice filled with alarm.
Alex was startled awake. "What? What is it?"
"There… there was a dog," Heather insisted.
"A what?" Alex questioned her, the disbelief was evident in his tone.
"It was a great big black dog, running right alongside the car," Heather said with conviction.
"Don't be ridiculous, Wambyn Nature Reserve doesn’t have wild dogs roaming around." Alex said, totally dismissing her claim in the most obnoxious way.
"I saw it!" Heather persisted.
"You've had too much to drink," Alex countered.
"I know what I saw!" Heather insisted, her frustration evident.
"What breed was it, then?" Alex challenged.
Heather hesitated. "I... I don't know."
"Exactly. Because you didn't see it!" Alex concluded; his annoyance more apparent than ever.
Heather glared at him, but he continued, "Just go to sleep or something. I’ll wake you when we get home."
Frustration weighed heavily upon Heather, so with a resigned sigh, she withdrew into a subdued silence. Her once-attentive gaze, fixed upon the world outside the window, had become a reflective pool of thoughts and worries. The hushed ambience of the car enveloped them, its subtle hum interwoven with the gentle cadence of the tires against the road.
As the minutes slipped by, Alex grappled with the increasingly difficult battle to maintain his wakefulness. The night's pervasive stillness, the monotony of the road, and the comfort of their quiet cocoon conspired against him. Still, he really hadn’t had that much to drink; he should have been fine to drive. His eyelids, weighed down now by an unrelenting drowsiness, surrendered to the inevitable. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they began their descent, closing like a curtain falling at the end of an act.
Meanwhile, beyond the confines of the car's interior, the vehicle continued its journey through the night. The tires, their rubber meeting asphalt, spun with an almost rhythmic regularity. The road, winding and uncertain, unfurled ahead of them. Unbeknownst to the drowsy driver, the car's trajectory had subtly shifted, its path straying from the established course as it meandered closer to the road's edge. Each mile gained, each subtle deviation from the center, heralded a burgeoning peril, creeping closer and closer to the precipice of uncertainty.
Inside the car, Heather suddenly noticed the car’s dangerous drift. "Alex!"
Abruptly, the jolt of his wife’s voice tore Alex from his slumber, and in an instant, his world shifted from the realm of dreams to the disorienting chaos of reality. Panic gripped his senses as his eyes snapped open, registering the impending disaster. The car, a once-steady vessel coursing through the night, now danced on the precipice of calamity. His heart raced, and adrenaline coursed through his veins, propelling him into immediate action.
Frantically, he grasped the steering wheel, the leather cool beneath his clammy palms, and initiated a desperate, erratic maneuver in a futile attempt to regain control. The vehicle responded with an agonizing lurch, careening wildly from the road. Its tires skidded across the asphalt, the screeching symphony of rubber meeting the road a cacophonous backdrop to their harrowing loss of control.
The night seemed to swallow them whole as the car's trajectory veered mercilessly off course. It met its gruesome fate in a violent collision with an Illawarra Flame Tree that stood at the roadside. The moment of impact was a maelstrom of shattering glass, twisted metal, and splintering wood. The car was mangled beyond recognition, its form grotesquely contorted in the aftermath of the catastrophic crash.
Amidst the wreckage, lay the bodies; both Alex and Heather had met tragic, unceremonious ends. The air hung heavy with the weight of the untimely conclusion of their shared journey. But as the world around them absorbed the chilling reality of the accident, an eerie, otherworldly sound emerged from the distant abyss. A haunting howl, mournful and spectral, pierced the pervasive silence. It seemed to transcend the earthly realm, a harbinger of ominous significance in the desolate stillness of the night.
The Hell Hound: Dr. Creepen's Vault
Part 1
A car approached the grand mansion estate, carrying two women. Sarah Murray sat in the passenger seat, deep in thought, while her friend, Helen Williams, was at the wheel.
Helen looked over at Sarah and asked, "Are you okay?"
Sarah, still lost in her own world, nodded quietly. Helen offered a reassuring smile. It had been a couple of years since the accident that had taken her parents’ lives, and this was her first time returning to the family estate.
The car glided to a graceful halt within the Mosman Mansion estate's grand driveway, a place where several other vehicles were also nestled, each one indicators of the bustling activity within. The unmistakable aura of manual work enveloped the scene as an array of tradesmen, clad in the attire of their respective crafts, surged in ceaseless motion. They moved with purpose, like dedicated actors in a meticulously choreographed play, their presence a clear sign of the mansion's ongoing transformation.
Sarah and Helen stepped out of the car; their collective gaze drawn irresistibly to the architectural masterpiece that loomed before them. The mansion, a sprawling attestation to the opulence and grandeur of an earlier age, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Its facade exuded a timelessness, the stately columns and intricate detailing hinting at the stories concealed within its grand walls. It stood as a symbol of history, a monument to a bygone era, where the echoes of past lives reverberated within its very foundations.
As Sarah and Helen emerged from the vehicle, they were in awe of the building in front of them, and the weight of their presence seemed inconsequential against the grandeur of the mansion's scale. The setting sun, with its golden embrace, cast a warm, inviting light upon the scene, accentuating the timeless beauty of the mansion's architectural details. The gentle rustle of leaves in the garden, the distant hum of industrious labor, and the faint scent of history in the air all contributed to the sense of anticipation that hung in the atmosphere. It was a moment of transition, an introduction to the threshold of a new chapter in their lives, as the two women stood together, their gazes lingering in reverence and curiosity on the impressive and enigmatic residence that now beckoned them forward.
"Well, they certainly had a nice place," Helen commented.
Sarah simply replied, "Yeah, they did."
The two arrived at the front gate of the impressive estate, the grandeur of the mansion looming before them. As they made their way towards the entrance, Helen inquired as to Richard’s whereabouts.
"Where's Richard?" she asked.
Sarah, naturally assuming he was inside, replied as such.
Within the sprawling confines of the mansion's grand lobby, a bustling symphony of activity unfolded before one's eyes, painting a vivid tableau of ongoing transformation. The very heart of the Mosman Mansion, steeped in history, now vibrated with the pulse of renovation work in full swing. The grandeur of yesteryears had given way to the organized chaos of the present, as artisans and skilled craftsmen diligently pursued their mission to reinvigorate this storied space.
In the midst of this orchestrated chaos, Richard Murray assumed a central role, as he organized the rhythm and flow of the transformation. With a commanding presence, he issued orders to the dedicated tradesmen who moved like skilled dancers, their tools of the trade poised to bring new life to the old surroundings. The air was charged with a palpable sense of progress, of renewal, as the lobby's very essence underwent a profound metamorphosis.
The lobby bore all the distinctive marks of a redecoration project in full swing. Scaffolding and ladders, strategically placed, reached out to the higher regions of the room. Dust cloths enveloped the furniture and chandeliers, shrouding them in a protective cocoon, guarding their elegance from the turbulence of the metamorphosis. The walls, once cloaked in the muted tones of the past, were now canvases for fresh coats of paint, lending an air of rejuvenation.
While the essence of the mansion's history was still evident from the grandeur of its aged architecture, the lobby was caught in the throes of rebirth. Each brushstroke and every hammer strike were the brushstrokes of a new era, crafting a future that would honor the grand legacy of the past.
Richard's gaze, in particular, fixated on a tradesman perched loftily upon an upper balcony. The worker, suspended amidst the architectural grandeur, was emblematic of the sweeping changes taking place. His elevated vantage point offered a unique perspective, a bird's-eye view into the intricate details of the transformation, as well as a glimpse into the resolute spirit of progress that coursed through the veins of the mansion.
"Look, just get rid of it," Richard instructed firmly.
The tradesman on the balcony hesitated, seeking confirmation. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Richard replied with a touch of impatience, "that bloody chandelier's just going to get in the way. Get rid of it."
Meanwhile, Helen and Sarah entered the lobby, taking in the scene. Richard turned his attention to greet them.
"Hello, ladies," he said, acknowledging their presence. "Yeah, well, the place wasn't exactly the most inviting. Reflected the old git's personality."
Sarah, bearing a sense of curiosity and intrigue, approached Richard with measured steps. He welcomed her with open arms, enveloping his sister in a warm and familiar hug. The embrace was a sign of the profound connection they shared, a silent acknowledgement of the history and shared experiences that had woven the fabric of their relationship over the years.
Upon releasing Sarah from his embrace, Richard turned his attention to Helen, the curious glimmer in his eyes prompting a question that hung in the air like an unspoken secret.
"So, where's Joe?" Richard inquired, his voice a blend of anticipation and intrigue, as if the missing puzzle piece had just been presented to him.
Helen, ever the reliable source of information, responded without hesitation, "Picking up those tools you asked him to get."
Her words carried the subtle reassurance of order and purpose, and she earned a nod of appreciation from Richard, who acknowledged her words with a knowing smile. He was the amateur when it came to DIY, while Helen’s husband was an accomplished handyman.
"Ah, good man," he responded, the gratitude evident in his tone, as he was grateful for Joe's timely assistance.
With a casual yet inviting gesture, Richard beckoned Helen and Sarah to follow him, leading the way toward the grand staircase that loomed before them like a regal sentinel. As they ascended the stairs, the mansion seemed to hold its breath, anticipation lingering in the air as it awaited their exploration. Richard, the de facto guide to this realm of memories and secrets, extended an unspoken invitation to Helen and Sarah, encouraging them to partake in the mysteries and revelations the mansion had in store.
"Hey, take a look around," Richard suggested with an amiable grin, his gaze reflecting a deep affection for this place that held countless memories. "Have you ever seen our parents' old house, Helen?" he inquired, his question an invitation to embark on a journey through time and recollections.
Helen, her response tinged with a touch of wonder, admitted, "No." The mystery of this place remained uncharted territory for Sarah’s close friend, promising to reveal its secrets and stories as she explored further.
Sarah, in contrast, lingered behind the group, her inquisitive nature leading her to peer into one of the bedrooms. As she gazed upon the room, she couldn't help but sense the resonance of the past, the echoes of childhood laughter and dreams, long since gone, that once filled these walls.
The hallway through which they traversed extended into the distance, and its walls told a story through the collection of paintings adorning them. Each canvas held within it a chapter of the mansion's history, a measure of the artistic inclinations of those who had called this place home.
Helen, her gaze flitting from one artwork to another, commented, "They sure liked their art." Her words paid homage to the appreciation of aesthetics and beauty that had once been an integral part of the mansion's identity.
Richard, ever the custodian of memories, provided context as he elucidated, "Yeah, that was Mum's. She always liked art." His words carried a hint of nostalgia, a reminder of the deep love and appreciation his mother had held for the visual arts.
Amidst their exploration, the mansion began to unveil its secrets, beckoning them further into its enigmatic embrace.
Inside the bedroom, Sarah started poking around. It appeared as though no one had used this room in years. Sarah picked up one of the pictures on the bedside table and examined it. As she stared at the photo, something moved swiftly behind her, akin to a fleeting shadow. Startled, Sarah turned to investigate.
"Hello?" she called out uncertainly.
She heard a faint clicking sound, resembling the patter of small footsteps. She continued to probe, "Hello?"
Suddenly, a noise emerged from the other side of the bed, a menacing growl, feral and animalistic. Sarah, feeling a mix of curiosity and fear, cautiously approached the source of the sound.
"Sarah?" Richard's voice interrupted her reverie.
Startled, Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin. The growling ceased. Richard stood in the doorway, looking at her with a bemused expression.
"Are you coming or what?" he asked.
Sarah hastily replaced the photo on the table and left the room, her sense of unease lingering.
Later that evening in the kitchen, Richard, Sarah, Helen, and Joe Williams gathered around a table, surrounded by empty takeout containers.
Richard shared an amusing anecdote, "So, get this. Dad comes in and he's practically tearing the house apart because he can't find a pen for the life of him."
Sarah added, "And he needs it to sign a very important deal by midday."
"Right," Richard continued, "so he goes half mad looking for one, and then runs out of the house and drives to the shops looking for one. And then Mum walks over to a drawer and finds like twenty of them all in a box."
The group laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
"First place she looked as well," Richard noted with a chuckle. "He would have been lost without her."
Sarah acknowledged their parents' connection, "Yeah...they were good together."
Richard agreed, "Yeah, they just weren't good with others."
Joe chimed in, "They were nice enough to leave you the house, though."
Richard conceded, "True, although I wouldn't have put it past the old man to go and change the will on the fly. He was like that."
They sat in the bedroom in silence, the weight of the empty house bearing down on them. Richard broke the quietude with a declaration, "Still, it's our house now." He gestured towards Sarah; his determination evident. "And we're gonna make it good."
Sarah nodded in agreement.
******
Amidst the soothing ambiance of the tranquil bedroom, Sarah emerged from the en-suite bathroom, her every movement marked by grace and purpose. She navigated the room with a seamless blend of familiarity and intention, her form embodying a tranquil presence. With measured steps, she gracefully eased herself beneath the soft, inviting embrace of the bed's covers, where her journey through the pages of a captivating book was destined to resume.
The room itself exuded an air of tranquillity, the dim light casting a gentle, almost ethereal glow upon the surroundings. The muted illumination painted the room's edges with shadows, creating a sanctuary of peaceful solitude where Sarah's thoughts could wander freely.
Engrossed in the captivating narrative that unfolded before her, Sarah initially remained oblivious to the subtle transformation in the room's atmosphere. The transformation was gradual, a shift so imperceptible that it barely registered. It began as a mere murmur, a low growl that tiptoed its way into the sanctum of the bedroom. Like a whisper carried on the breeze, it ventured into the room, hesitating for a heartbeat before permeating the air. At first, Sarah's senses struggled to decipher the intrusion, her mind ensnared in the clutches of the printed world.
It took a few precious moments before the growl began to assert itself, growing louder, more insistent, an unwelcome visitor in the room of serenity. Sarah's consciousness tiptoed back from the literary realm, and a subtle shiver coursed through her, breaking the spell of her reading. Her gaze, once affixed to the page, was now adrift, searching for the source of the encroaching sound.
With measured caution, Sarah cast her eyes upon the room's periphery, her inquisitive nature piqued by the inexplicable intrusion. The space, previously bathed in stillness, now hummed with an unspoken unease, the very air heavy with the burden of mystery. She cautiously glanced about the room, seeking the origin of the perplexing growl.
As her gaze drifted towards the bedroom door, a shadow, faint yet undeniable, materialized from under the crack at its base. It stood there, a spectral presence hinting at the existence of something lurking beyond the threshold.
The growling persisted, reverberating through the room like a distant, ominous echo. As Sarah shifted to the edge of the bed, her apprehension intensified, an instinctive response to the unsettling mystery that now enveloped her sanctuary. Her lips parted, and she called out into the enigmatic shadows that whispered secrets beyond her grasp.
"Who's there?" she inquired, her voice a blend of uncertainty and anxiety.
In response, the growling rumbled once more, resonating with an eerie tenor that was impossible to ignore. Sarah's resolve remained unshaken, her determination to unravel this mysterious sound unwavering. Slowly and deliberately, she rose from the bed, the creaking of the floorboards beneath her feet echoing her measured movements.
Her tentative exploration of the room revealed no immediate answers, only a lingering sense of disquiet that pervaded the atmosphere. The shadow, once a foreboding presence beneath the door, began to recede, its departure a cryptic dance of light and dark. Sarah's gaze, undeterred, darted in multiple directions as she took in the scene of the murky hallway. With meticulous scrutiny, she scoured the expanse, her inquisitiveness unyielding, searching for the elusive entity that had stirred the room's tranquility.
Yet, as her investigation continued, a gnawing unease tugged at her intuition. Finding nothing amiss, she eventually conceded to the uncertainty of the moment and reluctantly closed the bedroom door. A lingering sense of the unexplained remained, a mystery suspended in the stillness of the night, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal its hidden truth.
Part 2
The next day in the well-lit kitchen, Sarah entered as Joe washed a cereal bowl in the sink.
"Morning," Joe greeted her.
"Morning," Sarah responded tentatively. She hesitated for a moment before broaching the topic that had been troubling her. "Uh, Joe?"
Joe turned his attention to her. "Yeah?"
Sarah continued, "Did you hear anything last night?"
Perplexed, Joe inquired, "How do you mean?"
"Like...anything in the hall?" Sarah clarified.
Shaking his head, Joe replied, "No. Why?"
Sarah recounted her experience, "I could swear I heard an animal in the hall last night."
Curious, Joe probed, "What kind of animal?"
"Like a dog. I don't know, it was probably nothing," Sarah replied, trying to downplay her unease.
She moved over to the table and inquired about Joe's plans for the day. "So, what are you doing today, then?"
"Richard and I are going to work on the other wing. As it’s the weekend, there’s no one else working today, so we thought we’d crack on. With any luck, the whole house will be done in a few weeks."
"Nice," Sarah acknowledged, though a sense of disquiet lingered.
"Yeah, a day full of thrills indeed." Joe merrily concurred, before leaving the kitchen. Sarah, left alone at the table, couldn't shake off her growing sense of unease.
Inside the conservatory, the weather had taken a somber turn, as the ceaseless downpour outside painted a captivating symphony of nature. Each raindrop contributed to the mesmerizing, melodic background noise, a gentle yet persistent reminder of the world beyond these walls. The conservatory itself was a haven of creativity and transformation, an intimate arena where the elements of nature harmonized with the human endeavors within.
Richard and Joe, for the time being very convincing in their roles as two dedicated craftsmen adorned in rugged overalls, stood as artisans in this cosmic composition. Their work was a noble effort to breathe new life into the walls that surrounded them. The once-familiar walls now awaited their metamorphosis, each brushstroke bearing the promise of transformation, an act of creation and renewal amidst the relentless drumming of raindrops upon the conservatory's expansive windows.
The conservatory, with its expansive glass panes, allowed the ever-shifting landscape of the rain-drenched garden to serve as a backdrop to their work. The delicate interplay of light and shadow created an enchanting ambiance, as if the conservatory itself had become a canvas, both a reflection of the world outside and a beacon of human industry within.
As Richard and Joe navigated their world of paint cans, brushes, and ladders, they were engaged in a delicate act of renewal. Every movement felt deliberate, every stroke a contribution to the evolving masterpiece. The pungent scent of fresh paint filled the air, intermingling with the earthy petrichor that wafted in from the open windows, where raindrops splattered upon leaves and petals with a rhythmic precision.
The rain's rhythm outside echoed that of their own work, creating a sensory experience that transcended the mundane. It was as if the conservatory had become a sanctuary where time slowed, and the ordinary became extraordinary. In this dance between the human spirit and the forces of nature, the conservatory emerged as a space of rebirth and creation, where artistry and the elements coalesced in a harmonious duet.
Joe, with a hint of doubt, questioned Richard, "You sure we shouldn't get the professionals to do this?"
Richard reassured him, "It's just a paint job."
Joe nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. As they continued their work, Richard realised he needed a roller.
"Hey, Sarah?" he called out.
Sarah walked into the room, ready to assist. "Yeah?"
"Can you get me the roller? I think I left it in the kitchen," Richard requested.
"Sure," Sarah replied, surprisingly only somewhat happy to see the changes taking place.
In the kitchen, a room steeped in a comforting familiarity, Sarah's footsteps resonated against the tiled floor. Each step echoed the rhythm of her thoughts, a subdued but constant cadence that underscored the unfolding narrative. She grasped the roller, and with a newly determined sense of purpose, she embarked on the journey back to the conservatory. The smooth, cool surface of the roller's handle offered a reassuring grip, a tool of transformation in the work that unfolded before her.
However, as Sarah retraced her path towards the conservatory, the kitchen unveiled a subtle discord. She noticed that the back door leading to the garden was ajar, its threshold marked by the entry of raindrops, their presence leaving small, ephemeral pools of moisture on the kitchen floor. It was as though the natural world was asserting itself, an unseen hand reaching out to touch the boundaries of her domestic sanctuary. The door's curtain of raindrops, slowly falling in unison, seemed almost like a hesitant invitation into an enigmatic realm beyond.
Sarah, in her diligent quest to retrieve the roller, could not ignore this intrusion. Her hand, painted with a sudden awareness, reached out to the door's handle, grasping it with a sense of purpose. She closed the door with a firm, determined push, sealing the border between the kitchen's warm interior and the tempestuous exterior. A soft exhale of relief escaped her, a sigh that mirrored the rain's gentle serenade against the windowpanes.
Yet, as if the wind itself held a contrary opinion, the door creaked open once more, its hinges protesting with a mournful groan. Sarah's emotions shifted from relief to frustration, her brows furrowing as she stood at the door's threshold, facing the obstinate forces of nature. With measured determination, she stepped forward and, once again, closed the door with unwavering resolve, silently challenging the wind to test her fortitude.
As she retreated from the entryway, the door, unhinged by a gusty onslaught, swung open with a vengeance, its motion propelled by a force beyond human comprehension. Sarah was thrust backward, her delicate form colliding with the floor, a gasp of terror escaping her lips.
A haunting growl, guttural and foreboding, tore through the air, as Sarah lay in a state of vulnerability and fear. Her gaze, transfixed on the scene before her, met the malevolent eyes of a dog, an entity of primal, untamed instinct. Its snarling jaws and barking proclamation of authority left no room for doubt—this was a creature driven by an otherworldly agenda, one that existed beyond the boundaries of reason.
Sarah's scream of terror had not gone unnoticed. Richard and Joe, alerted by her piercing screams, were drawn into the unfolding drama. They entered the room, bewildered and filled with a sense of urgency. However, as they crossed the threshold, the enigmatic dog abruptly fell silent, its demeanor shifting as if acknowledging the presence of these new interlopers. In that still, charged moment, the tableau was complete—the interplay of human, animal, and the capricious forces of nature, an unforeseen encounter that would cast a long shadow over their lives.
"Sarah!" Richard rushed to help a terrified Sarah to her feet. "What happened?" he asked, concern etched on his face.
"A dog!" Sarah gasped, her fear evident in her trembling voice.
"What?" Richard was taken aback, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded in their supposedly empty house.
******
In the kitchen, Sarah's voice quivered as she recounted the terrifying encounter, "A huge, black dog! It tried to kill me!"
Richard, her protective brother, immediately sprang into action, "Joe, go check the garden."
Helen had appeared now, and began comforting her friend.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Joe sprang into action, lunging through the doorway and into the tempestuous night. The wind, a chaotic symphony of howling whispers and forceful gusts, whirled around him with a malevolence that matched the gravity of the situation. The rain, each drop like a miniature deluge, pelted him, its presence a constant reminder of the forces arrayed against him.
With a heightened sense of alertness, Joe now scoured the immediate vicinity, his gaze sweeping across the landscape with unwavering determination. His eyes, sharp beacons in the obscurity, delved into the shroud of the night, seeking any peculiarity, any hint of the mysterious and menacing black dog. The darkness, heavy and impenetrable, yielded no secrets, no trace of its enigmatic visitor.
As Joe continued to investigate, he left no stone unturned. His vigilant eyes canvassed the ground for any signs of recent disturbance, his boots thudding against the damp earth as he moved with a sense of purpose. Yet, the landscape offered nothing, its secrets guarded by the cloak of night, its truth obscured in layers of uncertainty, washed away by the downpour.
The elusive black dog, a specter that had materialized from the depths of the unknown, remained frustratingly intangible, hidden within the mysteries of the countryside. Joe's search, despite his unwavering resolve, yielded no substantial results, leaving him grappling with the thought that his friend’s sister may just have imagined it after all.
Inside, Richard and Helen led Sarah to the kitchen table, where he intended to assess the situation more thoroughly.
While Joe was outside, Sarah remained shaken. She affirmed her terrifying experience, "There's nothing there."
Richard, searching for a logical explanation, questioned Sarah, "Are you sure it was a dog?"
Sarah's reply was resolute, "Yes! It was huge, and it threw the door open!"
Richard wondered aloud, "That's a pretty sturdy door, Sarah. Are you sure it wasn't just the wind?"
Frustrated by his lack of understanding, Sarah maintained, "Yes, I'm sure! It came right at me!"
"But there's nothing out there," Richard reasoned, although feeling a little uncertain.
Sarah, feeling misunderstood, got up from the table and left the room, leaving Richard and Helen to ponder the situation. With a sigh, he came to a reluctant conclusion, "Must have been the wind."
As Joe returned to the room and headed towards the door, something caught Richard's eye. He noticed several muddy paw prints staining the floor, raising an unsettling question in his mind.
******
The next day, as the sun bathed York’s bustling town center in a warm, golden glow, Sarah embarked on her shopping expedition along the lively streets. In her grasp, she clutched a handful of shopping bags, their contents pointing to the errands she had undertaken. The town, a whirlwind of activity, buzzed with life as pedestrians bustled to and fro, each absorbed in their unique pursuits. The streets, adorned with quaint storefronts and a vibrant medley of colors, provided the perfect backdrop to this urban symphony.
Sarah navigated her way through this dynamic tapestry of small town Western Australian existence, where the hum of conversations and the rhythm of life painted a vivid picture. Shoppers meandered in and out of boutiques, their bags rustling with every step. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked goods wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the enticing scents of roasted coffee beans and blooming flowers.
As Sarah continued her journey, the streets narrowed, leading her into a confined space that hinted at a different realm of her surroundings. The transition from the bustling avenues to the Candice Bateman Memorial Park was marked by a subtle shift in ambiance. The open expanse of the town center gave way to a labyrinth of pathways, each one lined by an array of trees.
Inside the park, Sarah's footsteps echoed in the enclosed space, creating a rhythmic cadence as she ventured down the paths. The symphony of the town center had mellowed, replaced by a sense of solitude within this maze.
Then, the unexpected occurred. A stranger, a mysterious figure in this urban canvas, seized Sarah's arm, interrupting her journey through the park. Startled by the abrupt intrusion into her personal space, Sarah instinctively struggled against the unanticipated hold, her pulse quickening with a mix of surprise and apprehension. In the clash of emotions, she met the eyes of the woman who had accosted her, their gaze locked in a moment of tension and curiosity.
"I know what haunts you!" she declared with a look of such intensity that it left Sarah startled and uncomfortable.
She attempted to free herself from the woman's grip, retorting, "What? Let me go!"
The woman remained undeterred, her grip tightening. She insisted, "I know why it's after you!"
Sarah, growing more distressed, pleaded, "I don't know what you're talking about. Now leave me alone."
She managed to break free from her grasp and walked away swiftly, her anxiety evident.
However, the woman called after her, "The black dog… the hell hound!"
Sarah halted in her tracks, her curiosity piqued, and turned to face the stranger who seemed to know something about her ordeal.
"I know why it's tormenting you," she continued, her voice carrying a tone of urgency.
Sarah, despite her initial skepticism, inquired, "Why?"
But before the woman could divulge any further information, Richard approached, having noticed the encounter. He swiftly intervened, grabbing Sarah.
"Leave her alone!" Richard ordered, his protective instincts kicking in.
As he led Sarah away, the woman's parting words hung in the air, "I know the truth!"
Richard guided Sarah back to his car, attempting to shield her from the unsettling encounter with the mysterious woman.
Sarah, puzzled by the encounter, questioned her brother, "Who is she?"
Richard dismissively explained, "Just some local weirdo who runs a psychic shop nearby. Just ignore her."
And with that, they got into the car and drove back to the mansion, the lingering tension from the encounter still palpable.
******
A restless sleep and a morning of fitful contemplation had not helped. In the lounge, Sarah prepared to leave the house once more. As she reached for her coat and began to put it on, Richard observed her actions with curiosity.
"Where are you going?" he inquired.
Sarah turned to face her brother, who was seated in a nearby chair, his eyes trained on her.
"Into town. I need to get some things," she replied.
Richard probed further, "What things?"
"I need to get some food," Sarah explained.
Richard, asserting his ownership of the house, argued, "We've got plenty of food here in the house. Our house."
Sarah challenged the notion, stating, "It's not our house."
Richard's gaze hardened, and he retorted, "It is now."
Sarah, unwilling to accept the circumstances that had brought them to the house, confronted her brother, "We didn't exactly get it the right way, did we?"
The tension in the room thickened, as the siblings grappled with the weight of their inheritance and the unsettling events that had unfolded in their new home.
Richard, struggling to comprehend the situation, shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Sarah, feeling misunderstood and desperate for answers, turned away from her brother and left the room. Richard watched her as she departed, his concern evident in his gaze.
Part 3
In the bustling streets of the town, Sarah walked down the sidewalk, her eyes darting from shop to shop as she searched for one in particular. Her gaze settled on a storefront where Alexandra stood outside, observing her. Alexandra's shop, filled with enigmatic and occult objects, awaited her inside. Their eyes met briefly, and the woman she had encountered the day before retreated back into the shop. Sarah, curiosity and a need for answers compelling her, headed towards the store.
Within the dank and gloomily lit shop, Sarah ventured further into the mysterious interior. A variety of occult objects adorned the walls, including one featuring a depiction of a large, shaggy black dog. Alexandra stood in the corner next to a doorway.
"Come in," Alexandra beckoned.
Sarah followed her deeper into the shop.
In a small, dimly lit room, Alexandra switched on a lamp, illuminating a table at its center. Two chairs flanked the table. She encouraged her to sit, and Sarah obliged.
Sarah hesitated, unease weighing on her as she wondered about the cost of this unknowable meeting. "I don't usually do this. How much do I pay?"
Alexandra reassured her, "I'm not charging you," before settling into the chair opposite Sarah.
Alexandra addressed the pressing issue at hand, acknowledging Sarah's torment. "I know it's been...visiting you."
Sarah, desperate for answers, asked, "How do you know?"
Alexandra, with a solemn tone, revealed, "Call it an unwelcome gift."
Sarah pressed for more information, seeking to understand why this malevolent presence had targeted her. "Why is it coming after me? Why me?"
Alexandra leaned in, preparing to share a disturbing truth. "You're not going to like this."
Sarah braced herself. "Just tell me."
Alexandra, her expression grave, began to explain. "Okay. Black dogs are a death omen."
Sarah, alarmed by this revelation, questioned, "What?"
"In all the lore surrounding them," Alexandra continued, "everyone who comes into contact with one of them dies soon after. No one else sees it, only the victim."
Sarah, struggling to come to terms with the horrifying reality, denied it with every fiber of her being. "No..."
Alexandra pressed on, her words heavy with the weight of an unsettling truth. "I'm sorry, but that's the truth."
"Why me? Why is it coming after me? Why does it want to kill me?" Sarah pleaded desperately for answers.
Alexandra revealed the unsettling connection, "Well, here's the thing. They don't just go after anyone. They go after people who are responsible for death..."
Sarah's eyes widened with disbelief. "What?"
Alexandra elaborated, "Yeah. Call it an act of karma, if you will. They appear to those about to die, and then they appear to those responsible."
Sarah was overwhelmed by the horrifying implications of Alexandra's words. "No..."
"What did you do, Sarah?" Alexandra probed, searching for the truth.
"No!" Sarah vehemently denied any involvement in such dark circumstances.
Before Sarah could process the implications further, Richard stormed into the room, his protective instincts taking over. "I knew it! Come on!"
He seized Sarah's arm and hastily guided her out of the shop. Alexandra, compelled to follow, pursued them, her voice filled with a sense of inevitability. "You can't escape this!"
Richard confronted Alexandra, fiercely protective of his sister. "You! You stay the hell away from my sister!"
Together, he and Sarah exited the shop, leaving Alexandra behind.
******
In their own home, Sarah sat in the lounge, while Richard occupied a chair opposite her. The room was bathed in the warm glow of a crackling fire in the fireplace behind them.
Frustrated and concerned, Richard probed, "What's going on with you?"
Sarah met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and despair. "We finally have everything we've ever wanted, and you start babbling about black dogs."
Desperate to make her brother understand, Sarah confessed, "It's after us."
But Richard, struggling to reconcile her words with his perception of reality, was adamant. "No, it's not."
Sarah persisted, her voice trembling, "It knows what we did."
Richard, still grappling with the unfamiliar and unsettling situation, inquired, "Knows what?"
Sarah's accusation hung heavily in the air, casting a chilling shadow over the room. "It knows what we did that night."
Richard, still vehemently denying any wrongdoing, responded with frustration and determination, "We did nothing."
His resolve was evident as he stood up and began to walk away from Sarah, unable to entertain the possibility of her claims.
But Sarah was unrelenting, her voice trembling with anxiety, "That's not true!"
Richard, determined to quash the conversation, emphasized his point, "Nothing was proved. If nothing was proved, then nothing happened."
Sarah persisted, desperation creeping into her voice, "It knows. It knows that we drugged his drink."
Richard's patience waned, and he dismissed her concerns, "Oh for Christ's sake!"
Sarah continued, her words becoming more frantic, "It knows that we caused him to crash!"
In a moment of intense frustration, Richard confronted her, his anger simmering just below the surface. "Look! I have waited too long to get to where I am now! And I will not let you mess this up for me… for us!"
Sarah sobbed as she looked up at her brother, tears streaming down her face. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.
Richard, determined to protect his interests, delivered a final, chilling ultimatum, "You’re insane… I'll have you committed if I have to."
With that, he walked away, leaving Sarah crying in the chair, overwhelmed by a sense of isolation and dread. Richard entered the kitchen, his face etched with weariness. Helen and Joe sat at the table, their expressions reflecting the somber atmosphere.
In the hallway, Sarah, still sobbing, made her way along the corridor. She slowly approached her room, the weight of her predicament bearing down on her. Suddenly, a menacing growl echoed behind her. She turned, terror coursing through her veins, and then bolted down the hallway. The barking of the dog pursuing her heightened her fear. Sarah sprinted into her bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it with trembling hands. On the other side, the dog began to relentlessly pound against the door. Sarah, near hysteria, backed away from the door and into the center of the room.
Overwhelmed and terrified, Sarah cried out, "What do you want from me!?"
The dog responded with another menacing growl, intensifying its assault on the door, causing it to splinter and give way. Sarah's frantic gaze darted around the room as she searched for an escape. Spotting the window, she made a desperate decision. Sarah rushed over and flung it open. The hound continued to batter the door behind her.
As she clung to the narrow ledge outside the window, her fingers were pale from the intense strain they endured, grasping the rough surface for dear life. Her white-knuckled grip was a sign of her desperation and the dire circumstances she found herself in. The frigid breeze of the night bit at her skin as she perched precariously, gazing down into the abyss below. Three stories separated her from the unforgiving ground, and the mere thought of it sent shivers of dread down her spine. The icy fingers of fear coursed through her veins as she clung resolutely to the ledge, every muscle in her body tense and quivering.
Desperation was etched across her face, and beads of sweat formed on her furrowed brow. Her heart raced like a thundering drum, its beats echoing in her chest. The distant sounds of the night seemed to fade into oblivion, eclipsed by the urgency of her situation. With painstaking care, she inched her way along the precipice, every movement deliberate, every breath shallow with apprehension.
However, in one heart-wrenching moment, her fingers faltered. A chilling surge of panic coursed through her, and as her grip weakened, the ground below beckoned like a yawning chasm. Her body, an unwilling sacrifice to gravity, plummeted from the ledge. A heart-piercing scream tore through the night, its echoes reverberating through the very fabric of existence. The world seemed to hold its breath for a suspended moment before the cruel inevitability of gravity took hold.
In the bedroom, the door burst open, as Richard, Helen, and Joe rushed inside.
Helen's eyes widened in shock as she approached the open window, gasping in horror. Joe's face contorted in anguish. Sarah lay lifeless on the ground outside.
"Oh god," Joe muttered, his voice filled with grief.
Helen began to cry, her tears a sign of their profound loss. Richard stared down at Sarah's lifeless form, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders.
Epilogue
In the heart of the desolate Mundaring Cemetery, a thick shroud of fog clung to the gravestones like a ghostly embrace, creating an eerie ambiance that seemed to amplify the solitude. Each tombstone stood like a silent record, bearing the names and dates of those who had found their eternal rest within the cold earth. Among the rows of monuments, Richard stood alone, his presence a stark contrast to the profound stillness that enveloped the burial ground. Before him lay a grave, its headstone etched with the name "Sarah" and the years that had encompassed her life; a poignant reminder of the time stolen from her.
As he gazed upon the somber marker, his thoughts drifted into the depths of memory, where guilt and sorrow coiled around his heart like vines. The cemetery's silence seemed to amplify the weight of his conscience, and the knowledge that Alexandra, a witness to his darkest secret, was lurking nearby only intensified his inner turmoil. The unspoken words and unrelenting gaze of this onlooker had the power to pierce through the armor of his indifference.
His eyes reluctantly sought out Alexandra, who sat on a weathered bench beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. Their gazes locked for a fleeting moment; an unspoken dialogue laden with the intense weight of the past. The air seemed to thicken with remorse, and then an unbridgeable chasm yawned between them, its depths filled with the pain of unspoken truths. Unable to bear the guilt and the haunting knowledge that Alexandra carried, Richard finally broke their connection and turned away from the heart-wrenching scene of Sarah's final resting place.
Their business was done. He had already paid Alexandra the agreed fee for convincing his sister that a hell hound was after her, and would not cease until Sarah had paid the ultimate price: her own life. Setting up the hidden microphones around the mansion had been easy enough, what with all the commotion of the renovations. It hadn’t taken long for the terror of the murderous hound to drive her insane, the encounters with Alexandra pushing her over the edge. It had to be done, Richard regretfully concluded, as Sarah was at breaking point and was ready to confess their murderous plans to the authorities. What he couldn’t understand, though, were those muddy paw prints he’d seen in the kitchen, or the extent to which Sarah had truly believed she’d seen this beast. And another thing: the mysterious Alexandra had intimated that her part in this, in essence, was the truth and her fee was therefore to deliver a message, rather than her being part of a murder plot. He departed from the fog-shrouded cemetery, leaving behind the echoes of his actions and a void of unspoken words.
******
Returning to the lounge of the mansion, Richard sought solace before a roaring fire, its crackling flames dancing in a hypnotic, yet sinister, ballet. The dim light played tricks on the shadows, and a glass of whisky sat, untouched, in his hand as he grappled with the overwhelming burden of his past. Each sip of the fiery liquid was a futile attempt to drown his sorrows, to silence the haunting whispers of his conscience.
Then, an unsettling growl began to emanate through the room, a sound that reverberated through the very marrow of his bones. Fear and dread clawed their way up his spine, and his face contorted with a haunting combination of horror and recognition. The room seemed to pulsate with malevolent energy, and a heavy silence was broken by the persistent barking of a dog—a harbinger of doom. As the unearthly howling filled the air, it seemed as if the very fabric of reality had been torn, and a suffocating shroud of dread settled over the room, each thread woven with the lingering echoes of a malevolent presence.
Written by DariusMcCorkindale
Content is available under CC BY-SA