There's something still in the house, something living in the stale air and utter darkness that only a burial can provide. After the last member of the Clinethorpe family died, their will stated that their ancestral manor was to be left untouched internally and buried eighteen feet below their grounds.
The windows and doors had been sealed, the chimneys blocked for maximum preservation of the items and the unexpected burial of five teenagers within. They snuck in on a dare, hoping to find everything and nothing all at once but in reality all they found was that using their phones for torches drains the batteries unexpectedly fast.
They also found that the manor had no signal nor power supply any where. As they turned back for the window they had entered through a few hours prior, they began to hear loud noises coming from the outside. It never occurred to them just how little sound is carried when at the heart of a richly furnished stately home, much less that time itself would be carried differently.
Time went by all too quickly without sunlight or their phones to measure it. By the time they'd made it to the window they were jolted back as the manor was lifted upwards by unseen cranes whose colossal engines muffled their screams to nothing more than a faint echo and even after the manor had been lowered into its tomb they could not be heard.
The sound of each ton of earth emptied over their accidental prison sounded far more like nails in a coffin.
The windows and doors had been sealed, the chimneys blocked for maximum preservation of the items and the unexpected burial of five teenagers within. They snuck in on a dare, hoping to find everything and nothing all at once but in reality all they found was that using their phones for torches drains the batteries unexpectedly fast.
They also found that the manor had no signal nor power supply any where. As they turned back for the window they had entered through a few hours prior, they began to hear loud noises coming from the outside. It never occurred to them just how little sound is carried when at the heart of a richly furnished stately home, much less that time itself would be carried differently.
Time went by all too quickly without sunlight or their phones to measure it. By the time they'd made it to the window they were jolted back as the manor was lifted upwards by unseen cranes whose colossal engines muffled their screams to nothing more than a faint echo and even after the manor had been lowered into its tomb they could not be heard.
The sound of each ton of earth emptied over their accidental prison sounded far more like nails in a coffin.
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