I was in a rather modest house looking after a young boy. He was a smart and effusive child, but he was afraid of the upper floor of the house. The extent of his fear became abundantly apparent when I mentioned that it was his bed time, whereupon he pleaded with me to check every square inch of the upper floor before bringing him to his room. In my skepticism I assumed it was not to be of any concern, dismissing it as the construct of a wild imagination. Making a promise with him, I agreed that I would check it out, only coming back when the coast was presumably clear.
At the top of the stair was a door opening into a dark room. Passing through this doorway is when unsettling changes began to set in. As my vision adjusted to the dark, I saw myself in an abandoned mansion with a faint cerulean light pouring in through tall oppressive windows. Upon turning to look back, the door I passed through was no longer there, a solid wall now in its place. I was stuck here. Anxiety began to kick in.
The rooms I now confronted were cavernous and empty, almost overbearingly so. They were fitted only with cobweb-strewn chandeliers, peeling, cracked paint and bits of broken glass. Dried leaves and dirt lay still on the floors. There was only silence, save for my breath, footsteps and my uncomfortable sniffing of stagnant, dead air. After making my way through several rooms, I came across a figure at the opposite end of a corridor. Her back was facing me.
Long black hair, robed, motionless.
I stood still for a while, almost desperately silent, squinting to get a better look at her until she finally turned to face me. There lay a black shadow with a certain pulsating darkness upon the contours of her face, black smoke seething from the center. It was not unlike some portal into the void, drawing all of the surrounding light into it, expelling it forth as shadow. She stood there, lifeless, but I could feel her horrible gaze staring into and through me, arresting me for what felt like forever as the blackness filled the room.