Countryside Town

Peaceful.

That would be the best word to describe the small town deep within the countryside of England. A temperate temperature on a bright cloudless day mid July. Occasional soft gusts of wind blew across the earth. Healthy emerald grass swayed alongside bountiful amount of distinctive coloured flowers.

Dozens of brick built houses formed multiple small streets paved with large square cut stones.

The distant sound of sheep and cows grazing could be heard, adding to the atmosphere of this picturesque town.

Fortunately few knew of this town, shielding it from tourists and mid-life crisis get away couples. Unfortunately outside help such as police or medics could not arrive in this town quickly, leaving plenty of time for dubious activities to be committed.

This was a town where everyone knew everyone, where hate and anger existed only in stories read to children. A community that shares the kindness of each person to another, the friendship of one shared to make a friendship of another.

However for the past few days there has been a rumour floating around town, passed along through the gossip between two beers or through the meals at home.

The rumour is that the recluse living in the countryside manner had passed on and his only living relative has inherited the estate.

This brought much excitement to a town, of which new faces where scarce to find.

If one walked along the worn down roads out of town for around the time it took to boil the kettle, you would come to find a huge imposing house.

It was surrounded by overgrown weeds and shrubs causing one to have to consistently tread carefully when walking up to the houses entrance. Yet oddly enough not a single vine or weed stuck to the house, leaving it bare.

Standing at 20 metres tall and 110 metres wide it dwarfed any house within town. Surrounded by black iron gates it remained at the top of the small hill which it was located upon.

A flat front with two cylinder towers at either front corner made it look more like a castle rather than a house. Dull maroon bricks, of which not a single one was left without a chip or crack, made up the houses walls.

Windows covered the house with black wooden frames, crossed through the middle splitting each window into four quadrants.

And most notable of all was the huge black door at the entrance. Adorned to the door were roses and vines of thorns made completely out of a black metal extending downwards and protruding outwards, acting as handles.

The house had remained there for over 170 years, long before the town was built. The house was famous in town for not only its intimidating appearance, but that only one person ever lives in the house at a time.

They rarely come out and often spend all their lives in the house as a recluse, disappointing the residents of the town.

So when news of a new owner appearing after 50 years some hoped that he would finally break the standing tradition of recluse owners.

Many tried visiting the house, none were successful however. No matter how much they knocked or how many attempts they made, no one answered, not a single sign of life was apparent if one stared at the house from outside.

Eventually people stopped trying to visit the new owner and people's curiosity faded over time. Until all that was left were a few rumours that the new owner is even more anti sociable than the old one.

The house remained unvisited for the following weeks until a young lady appeared to try her luck with the owner.

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Deep within the cellar stood a young man, early twenties at most.

He wore a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and an unbuttoned collar. Black formal trousers and smart black shoes.

He stood motionless, like a statue, unmoving and silent.

In front of the youth was a black table.

Drip Drip.

Crimson liquid fell in drops, the young man however ignored it. His entire focus was on the table. Staring intently at something without blinking.

Blood.

Blood covered the youths outfit turning white to red and black to dark red.

A strong metallic smell emanated from the table. Enough to cause someone to become light headed.

And on the table lay a petite young women.

Pale and thin.

Her face shocked and horrified.

Her chest was gone. Replaces by a gut wrenching scene of gore.

Her ribs were exposed and pulled to either side by clamps, opening her chest and exposing the inside of her body.

Blood reflected from the gas lamp that illuminated the room, albeit poorly.

Chunks of organs were placed erratically around the table forming a bloody and horrific image.

Inside her open chest was a pool of blood and bits of organs like a pre-blended smoothie.

Her pale white skin, as a result from severe blood loss, contrasted greatly against the dark room.

After a long period of silence the young man sighed.

"Well this isn't good"