[author's note: there is no Ava here, there is only zuul this prompt, enjoy.]
Twilight in Syriac Well is usually an enchanting affair. The dimming of the day's light on lushly tree-lined streets, the gentle echo of hansom cab wheels on pavement, the lights slowly coming on in houses, dotting the gaps between tree branches, the young men in various states of distress and death on the lawn of a well-appointed townhouse...
--Usually.
But not this evening, not in front of this place. It's a beautiful townhouse, four levels plus an attic, apparently lovingly cared for. Unlike other houses along this street, no lights glow from beyond the windows or door, all of which are open. Every. Last. One, revealing only darkness beyond. White, gauzy curtains caught by the evening's breeze billow out from time to time.
Three men in their early twenties are outside the front of the house. The first stands at the curb, bellowing HELP US, SOMEONE HELP, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS, SOMEONE, PLEASE with such volume and force he's red in the face and weak in the knees.
The second sits on the lawn, knees drawn up to his chest with his arms around them, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, eyes wide and yet unseeing.
And the third? He's over there, on the pavement, horribly twisted in death. It seems he dove out the attic window.
a haunted house (syriac well) - warning for potential horrors
zuulthis prompt, enjoy.]Twilight in Syriac Well is usually an enchanting affair. The dimming of the day's light on lushly tree-lined streets, the gentle echo of hansom cab wheels on pavement, the lights slowly coming on in houses, dotting the gaps between tree branches, the young men in various states of distress and death on the lawn of a well-appointed townhouse...
--Usually.
But not this evening, not in front of this place. It's a beautiful townhouse, four levels plus an attic, apparently lovingly cared for. Unlike other houses along this street, no lights glow from beyond the windows or door, all of which are open. Every. Last. One, revealing only darkness beyond. White, gauzy curtains caught by the evening's breeze billow out from time to time.
Three men in their early twenties are outside the front of the house. The first stands at the curb, bellowing HELP US, SOMEONE HELP, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS, SOMEONE, PLEASE with such volume and force he's red in the face and weak in the knees.
The second sits on the lawn, knees drawn up to his chest with his arms around them, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, eyes wide and yet unseeing.
And the third? He's over there, on the pavement, horribly twisted in death. It seems he dove out the attic window.
HELP US, PLEASE HELP US, HELP...