The House on the Hill

[TheoDormouse]

The slowly rotting house is too small to be a proper mansion. It was meant to be a summer home, originally, and was built by a rich gentleman named Henri Rouchae. It was to be a place for his artistic daughter, Amelie, to spend her springs and summer, painting the blossoming wildlife surrounding the house.
Perched on top of a hill, the house's huge windows offer fantastic views. Amelie spent three seasons there, happily sketching flowers and woodland animals.
In the summer of 1921, however, when Amelie was 23 years old, she never came home. She stopped responding to letters and telegrams, and eventually someone from the tiny nearby town was sent to go look for her.
She was found dead in the kitchen, scarlet and crimson staining her hands. Not blood, but gore-colored paint: and across the kitchen wall, framed by the morning's pale light, were the messy, finger-painted lines:
ameLie rouchaE is deAD
she fell and broke her head
The police that later investigated ruled the case as insanity-induced suicide. The young woman was driven crazy from the toxic ingredients in her paints, and then poisoned herself. As for her last message, well, who can fathom the actions of the mad?
Since then, the house has stood empty. The Rouchae family abandoned it for the woods to take over, and now it stands, decaying, vines and moss creeping into rooms full of dusty, rotting furniture. The townspeople don't go near the place, although every so often some adventurous teen or doubting person dares to approach it. They return with tales of not-quite-legible whispers, of scrawled messages appearing on walls, of looking down and finding their fingertips stained with ruby-red (paint? blood? no one bothers to test it, just scrubs it off in a hurry). One man claims he was pushed down the stairs (he broke his arm, and nearly his neck). Another says he heard a woman laughing.
And they say that as you leave the summer-mansion, if you look back, you'll see a figure in one of the house's big windows, watching silently...

[Lullabyred]

She sighed as her car ran out of gas and  she didn't really have money for gas , but she put her ankle boots on and got out of her small car, she pulled her red hair into a ponytail and walked down the fogged path with her small flashlight, she had hope to find a place with cell service, a land line at least, but nothing 2 miles later she had stopped feeling exhausted , then noticed a small home, she slowly approached it, it was over grown with flora and leaves and branches , she looked over the home noticing a balcony , she had hope some one was there , she knocked lightly on the door and no one answered , the door creaked open, she stepped in and her flash light died, she lightly said "hello" and as she stepped in the door slammed shut behind her, she jumped but then lightly laughed at her self and kept walking inward, all she wanted was a phone.

[TheoDormouse]

The house is as silent as a grave as the woman walks through it. Dust covers every flat surface, swirling gently as Lullaby's motions disturb the otherwise still air.
While the rooms used to all be flooded with natural light, it's since been replaced with a dim murkiness. The plant life outside blocks out the sun, and mildew mottles the glass panes, giving everything an unpleasantly grey-green tinge.
Lullaby's voice echoes back to her, a distant "hello" repeating over and over until it fades away. Although towards the end, it had almost sounded like a different person...but no, probably just the way sounds bounce in old buildings. Right?
Although the red-haired woman might not hear it, the soft clicking of locks being turned signals the front door sealing her in.

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