My Strange Normal 6 Children

A piercing scream echoed through the desolate halls, shattering the silence. The only other sounds were the occasional creaks and the distant drip of water droplets, amplifying the stillness.

The screams came from a woman, her voice laden with pain and audible suffering.

The halls, though empty, were a testament to fine craftsmanship. Hand-carved stone figures, opulent paintings, intricately designed stone flooring, and luxurious rugs and decorations filled the space, intriguing anyone who might pass through.

As the echoes of the scream grew more distinct, they led to a single room deep within the halls.

"Hold on just a bit longer. I'm here," a man's warm voice reassured as he held her hand gently.

She squeezed his hand and let out another agonized scream.

"Okay, I have the head. Keep pushing," an older woman instructed, focusing her attention below the sheets.

The laboring woman breathed rhythmically, then screamed again, sitting up on the bed. This wasn't her first childbirth, but usually, more experienced women assisted her. This time, it was weeks earlier than anticipated.

Her husband, a man with blonde hair and an innocent demeanor, clutched her hand. His wife, a stunning woman with long, straight red hair, outshone everyone with her beauty and kindness.

The older woman was the only one available for the unexpected delivery.

"Okay—almost out!" the older woman exclaimed, cradling the baby.

With a final series of screams and pushes, the baby was born.

"It's a beautiful baby boy!" she announced with a smile as the newborn cried.

"Lady Mayvis, there's too much blood!" the husband said, fear creeping into his voice.

The new mother lay weak, too exhausted to react.

The older woman quickly set the baby down and rushed to her side.

"Heal! Heal!" she chanted, casting weak healing magic.

The baby cried loudly, wiggling his arms and legs, filling the room with the promise of new life amidst the urgency.

As the cries of the newborn continued to resonate, the scene inside the room slowly faded, transitioning to the outside of their grand manor. The once-beautiful estate now seemed shrouded in an ugly rain, each droplet falling like tears from the heavens, mirroring the gravity of the moment.

The manor, a majestic structure of hand-carved stone and elegant design, stood somber under the relentless downpour. The extravagant decorations and intricate details that once spoke of wealth and beauty were now muted, their brilliance dampened by the heavy rain.

Water streamed down the walls, pooling around the roots of ancient trees that lined the path leading away from the manor. The gardens, usually vibrant and full of life, were now dark and sodden, their colors washed away by the relentless storm.

The rain continued to fall, a steady, mournful drumming on the rooftops and windows. It seemed to carry the weight of the moment, blending with the cries of the newborn, creating a symphony of life and sorrow.

*** 1 year and several months later***

A carriage arrived just outside the manor, its wheels crunching against the gravel path. 

From its doors stepped out a heavier man, who removed his monocle and tucked it into his pocket. His thin black hair was meticulously combed over, and his clean-shaven face lent an air of sophistication.

 He dressed impeccably, as befitting a distinguished coachman of his caliber. His apprentice had been driving, which is why he exited from within the carriage.

"Heavens, just what in the world happened here?" he exclaimed as he set foot on the ground. His eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. The once beautiful and lovingly decorated gardens were now a tangled mess of dead plants, and the clean walls were covered in creeping vines.

Not long after the main doors creaked open, and a tall blonde man dressed in casual attire emerged.

"Um, Sir Goldenfold, if you don't mind me asking. What happened to the beautiful gardens and…" Kennith's voice trailed off as he took in the full extent of the decay.

"I had heard in town that he's never been the same since that day—but could it have affected him to the point of neglecting his manor, the greatest envy of Loumont?" Kennith thought to himself, his heart heavy with pity.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to ask anything that was not of my place," he said, bowing in apology.

"Don't worry about it, Kennith. Now, if you don't mind, shall we prepare for departure? Oh, and feel free to call me just Calvin," said the blonde man, Calvin Goldenfold, with an innocent smile that seemed out of place given the state of his surroundings.

"As you wish, Sir Calvin," Kennith said, maintaining his bow of respect, though his mind buzzed with concern.

"Please, no formalities," Calvin replied with a slight chuckle. He gestured for Kennith to follow him inside the grand manor.

"I assume we are waiting on the others?" Kennith asked, glancing around the dimly lit entrance hall.

"Well, yes. I had left them here with the last few belongings, but it appears they have dispersed," Calvin said, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

Kennith looked around the entrance of the manor. Two grand staircases led to the second level, each curving gracefully up the walls. Between them, an entryway led into the great hall, with other chambers accessible to the left and right.

"If you don't mind giving me a hand looking for them, they should be the only ones left here," Calvin asked politely.

"Of course!" Kennith responded without hesitation, eager to help.

"I really appreciate it, Kennith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take the downstairs. Please take the top floor," Calvin said before rushing off, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls.

Kennith ascended the stairs, admiring the vast, echoing space. Even without the decorations and luxurious furniture, the manor's architecture was still awe-inspiring, though it felt eerily hollow.

"They really emptied this beauty, huh?" Kennith murmured to himself as he made his way to the second floor. The air was thick with dust, and the absence of the once-vibrant life that filled the manor was palpable.

He paused at the top of the stairs, listening for any signs of movement. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the old house settling and the distant murmur of air. 

With a determined nod, Kennith resumed his search. Room after room, the monotony was beginning to wear on him, but he had no other choice. He had already inspected nearly thirty-five rooms, each empty save for slight cobwebs lurking in the corners. The worst part was that he wasn't even close to being done.

Letting out a long sigh, he sank into a dusty wooden chair left behind. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. Kennith was a man on the heavier side, and this task proved more challenging than he had anticipated.

The faint sound of dripping echoed through the halls, catching his attention immediately. His heart quickened with excitement as he shot up from the chair, eager to find the source. The sound seemed to come from several rooms down, the final room at the end of the hall.

Kennith walked slowly, tucking his handkerchief back into the inner pocket of his coat. The air around him seemed to thicken, and the walls appeared to change tint, growing darker the closer he got. It was odd—though the halls had small windows that should have let in enough light, the darkness seemed to encroach, as if the sun itself was being blotted out.

"Then why is it getting darker?" he asked himself, his voice barely a whisper.

As he approached the door, the oppressive darkness became palpable. Turning around, he realized the hall was now pitch black, the windows no longer offering any light. The only source of illumination was a single, flickering candle placed just before the final door.

A quiet, eerie darkness began to seep into his skin, and goosebumps rose on his neck and arms. Fear gnawed at him. Kennith prided himself on being a good man, one who avoided sin and treated others kindly. But he had his secrets—like the times he'd stolen candy from children, a guilty pleasure he intended to take to his grave.

"Imagine finding out a grown man steals candy from children," he thought, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Could this be his punishment?

Sweat trickled down his back, and his breath came in shallow gasps. The steady dripping sound resumed, now unmistakably coming from the other side of the door. He gripped the elegant door knob slowly, but before he could turn it, he noticed a red liquid beginning to pool from underneath the door.

His heart sank, skipping a beat.

"This is it," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing pulse. His palms were slick with sweat, and strands of his carefully combed-over hair were now plastered haphazardly across his forehead.

Fear crept in, a cold serpent winding through his veins, setting off every alarm in his body. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to flee the looming dread that lurked beyond the door. Yet, driven by a need he couldn't explain, he forced his trembling hand to twist the tarnished brass knob.

As a mere coachman, it wasn't his duty to search every shadowy corner of the manor. Yet, something compelled him, a whisper in the back of his mind urging him onward.

The door resisted his hesitant push, opening with a drawn-out creak that echoed through the desolate hallway. He winced at the sound, each note grating against his raw nerves. His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for the unknown horrors that might lie inside.