House of Evil — Chapter Two

Whispers In the Mist

Robin Christine Honigsberg
9 min readSep 30, 2022

A foggy forest with pine/evergreen trees at nightfall.
Photo by Claudio Testa on Unsplash

Lauren no longer knew if she was dreaming or awake.

She watched as arms emerged from the walls, reaching for her. A dark shadow flowed across the floor. Frozen in terror, Lauren watched as it invaded her porous skin, spreading into the veins throughout her body. Was she still dreaming or was this really happening?

Lauren’s blood became ice cold. A growing mist seemed to emanate from the walls. It grew into a thick blanket coating her bedroom.

What the hell was going on? Why did Elise, her lunatic mother-in-law, lock her in the bedroom? Was Elise possessed? Was the house? The only place she had ever felt comfortable in was her and Dean’s bedroom suite. Not anymore. She needed to escape. Was she losing her mind? Had Elise’s mental cruelty finally broken her?

The balcony was the only way out of the room, away from the arms in the walls reaching for her, the whispers of the house and the rapidly growing mist. Their bedroom suite was on the second floor; she could easily jump down. Quickly she dressed in sweats, still wearing Dean’s t-shirt, fervently wishing her husband wasn’t away on a business trip. Without lacing her sneakers, she made her way to the balcony doors as fast as the thickening fog would allow her.

In her race to escape the demons in her bedroom, Lauren fumbled with the balcony doors, escalating her panic. With a sigh of relief, she finally managed to open the double glass doors and dashed outside, lunging into the night to gulp in the fresh air.

Terrified, she glanced back to see curls of the thick mist beginning to trail out the open balcony doors. Scanning the ground below, she saw it wasn’t too far down. Climbing over the balcony railing, Lauren jumped, landing lightly on her feet.

The fog billowed out of the bedroom. It poured over the grounds enveloping everything. Lauren couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. Her icy blood took control of her. Against her will, she found herself walking towards the one place on the grounds she had visited only once before — the family cemetery in the east corner of the property.

The cemetery was centuries old; all of Dean’s ancestors were buried there. Many of the headstones…

Robin Christine Honigsberg

Author of “Dysfunctional Me.” Associate Editor & Social Media Manager at Sensitive eccentric. Medium Editor-“AYOT.”