sammy . the haunting

[selfeffacingly]

concept pics coming to a post near you soon

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[selfeffacingly]

[ Francesca Stirling lives in a haunted house.

She had never imagined that she would. She didn't believe in ghosts — not really. A haunting was a metaphor. A scary movie to watch, clutching your dearest loved ones. She used to watch them with her husband once. A long time ago, or at least that's what it feels like these days.

She certainly didn't jump to the theory before considering everything else. Old houses settle, their bones stretch and creak. The same can only be said of castles, can't it?

The housekeepers murmured among themselves. They didn't go into certain rooms except in groups of two. A creature of practicality, she scoffed at the superstition. Over time, the dismissal became quiet eschewing, an attempt to bury her head in the sand. Then, it became too much. The banging, the cold, the doors opening and slamming.

Maybe it's John, she thinks. She hopes.

But it's getting worse.

It's not her idea to get in contact with somebody, but eventually she agrees. Someone knows someone that knows what to do. One day, two men show up. She peers at them through a window, examining them. They're met by her butler. He shows them around.

Francesca sits in the drawing room, still and quiet upon her piano bench. Breath strangely bated. As though she did not already arrive to the conclusion she has, like she hadn't accepted the insanity for what it is.

And she plays, deep and haunting, as if it could drown it all out. ]