Story Contest 2018 #1 - Outstanding Stories (Junior) »

The Mystery of the Thomason House

“The Mystery of the Thomason House” is one of the outstanding stories of the first biannual International Short Story Contest 2018.

The Mystery of the Thomason House

“I got up and left the lounge at a quarter to ten at night, as I was starting to feel tired. I left six people in the room: George Dawson, Emily Roberts, Francesca Louis, Big Sam” – he introduced himself like that – and his sister Susan, as well as the tall and mysterious Dr. Dan Mosby. Paula had excused herself at about nine-thirty, explaining that she wanted to look for a book in the library. William Miller had eaten supper, and then returned to the house gardens, where he had spent the entire day, in the midst of all the dirt and mud. The only other guest was Timothy Jenkins, who had been poorly all day, and so retired to rest early in the evening.

The house we were staying in (The Thomason House) was originally the home of Sir Angus Thomason, and to celebrate the renovation of it, ten random people from his fan website were selected to stay in the house. On the ground floor, there is a sitting room, dining room, kitchen and bathroom. The second floor was the home of our rooms. The lounge and the library sit on either side of this floor, with five rooms being on each side of the corridor between them.

After I left the lounge, I made my way to my room. It was the room on the right side of the corridor, closer to the lounge that the library. I changed, brushed my teeth, then, having showered earlier, I slept. Suddenly, I woke up. At first I didn’t know what had woken me, but then I heard it: a moan. It sounded like pure agony. I jumped up and opened the door. Across me, Big Sam opened his. “You?” He asked. I shook my head. The other guests were also awake, and so we decided to investigate.

As we tip-toed along the corridor, I realized that it was raining. I could hear the steady patter of the rain on the roof; it sounded like marching soldiers. The moaning came from the library. George, whose room was right next to the library, reached there first. It had the only door that wasn’t renovated. It creaked. It was crooked. And dust crumbled around it. Slowly, it opened.

Once the door opened, we all cautiously edged ourselves into the room. The moaning had stopped. But I heard something else. The wind howled through the open windows. The lights were blinking. On the floor, there were muddy footprints, and books were lying on the ground. It looked as though someone had been searching for something. Paula sat on a chair, bent over a book on a desk. I went over to her and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

When I touched her, I knew something was wrong. Her skin was cold. Ice cold. I put my hand on her chin and tilted her face towards me. Her eye sockets were empty. I screamed. Big Sam came over. He looked at Paula and immediately turned away. She was pale. Red claw marks painted her neck. Her hair was messed up. She was dead. I looked at the book she was bent over. I was handwritten and it said: The mystery of the Thomason House.” I finished my story there, and a deep silence followed.

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