Skip to main content

ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.

                       


                         CHAPTER 1

       ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION 

The sky bled bruises of plum and cherry over the rolling hills. A full moon hung low against the mauve casting silver shards through the trees. The mansion made of cold greystone loomed large beyond the rusted iron gates.

It grated on the gravel, rasping on the hinges and yawned open like a predator's jaw as Goldwynn booted it open with her foot. Her sneakers squished heavily on the mulch of dead leaves. Clutching her backpack, she looked up at the towering, grim structure forebodingly. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" her friend Lexi whispered, hesitating by the gate. "This mansion's totally cursed, they say." Lexi's voice was a thin thread. A chill crept up her back and she tightened her hold on Goldwynn 's sleeve. 

Goldwynn smirked,her eyes sparkling as she tugged free from Lexi’s hold. "Cursed or not, I'm going to snatch the Locke Jewel. Meet me back here, midnight sharp.”

"What if the rumors are true?", Lexi chattered through her teeth. "They say whoever takes the Jewel gets...consumed."

Goldwynn snorted, swinging her backpack. "Consumed by what? Fiddlesticks! I'm going in there. You can wait for me here…or leave. Up to you."

The enormous courtyard engulfed her as she crept through the overgrown shrubs and tall stalks of grass in the neglected gardens. A strong wind whipped about her face, her chestnut-blond hair stinging her flushed cheeks. 

The door to the mansion was boarded but Goldwynn sneaked around the side and found a window that could be wrested open. Her slender frame squeezed itself through the cramped opening. She found herself in what was once a sun room. 

Inside, the shadows tangled with the bright moonlight sneaking through the grimy window panes. Cobwebs clung their skeletal fingers onto antique vases and furniture. Dust motes danced in the moonbeams and air reeked of decay. 

Goldwynn's sneakers screeched again and a floorboard groaned in reply. She froze to the spot.

"..someone there?" A distant creak answered her. The wind howled, slamming an open window on the storey above.

She bolted for the grand staircase, her heart drumming incessantly. Shelves lined one side of the wall on the wide landing on which stood rows of dusty trophies, medals and framed photographs of a family long gone.

Where was the Jewel?

A swarm of bats roused by the running feet rushed past Goldwynn in a frenzy, their wings swatting at her face. Shrieking, Goldwynn sprinted blindly into the maw of the mansion.

The dancing shadows closed in on her as she leaned against the door, panting.

She'd run into a dead-end. As her heartbeats slowed, the floorboards suddenly surrendered, and she plunged into a pitch-black void. 

The air was a solid wall, choking her. Goldwynn hurtled through emptiness, flailing for a handhold that wasn't there. Darkness swallowed her whole. 

Bracing herself for a horrendous impact on hard concrete or even worse –a bed of crags and pointy rocks, she wished this was only a nightmare. Or a quick end. This is it !

I shouldn't have come here. I should have listened to Lexi. I only hope my death is instant.

Suddenly, the air thinned and cooled. A dim cavern materialized. I died.

Goldwynn floated, wingless but weightless. Instead of a barrelling free fall, her landing was soft. She slid down a sloping ramp, and rolled clumsily out of the cavern into a warm, pale peach gloaming.

To Be Continued....

*******

This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.

https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogrolls/abercrombie-locke-mansion



Comments

  1. Ooooh I'm invested now.. though I too believe she should have listened to Lexi but ab aa hi gaye hai mansion mein to dekhe aage kya hota hai :P

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much for reading, Rustic Mind ☺️. Glad I could make the pilot episode gripping 😊

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moxie N' Mettle

                                MOXIE N' METTLE  In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck,  There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage,  Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire  Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation.  Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

CLOGYRNACH ( Day 8, Soul Craft Poetry)

                          CLOGYRNACH  How time flies, they grow up too soon When they'd bawled you'd shown them the moon Your mirror image Feels she's in a cage Stomping rage! 'Teen Typhoon' Pic Courtesy: Soul Craft  ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Clogyrnach, Welsh poetic form is typically a six-line syllabic stanza with an ab rhyme scheme: Line 1: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 2: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 3: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 4: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 5: 3 syllables with a b rhyme Line 6: 3 syllables with an a rhyme.

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

                            CHAPTER 15                RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

                          CHAPTER 16                    THE BIG BAD WOLF  The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about.  The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

QUEST FOR THE BEARS (DAY 18, LETTER Q)

                      CHAPTER 17             QUEST FOR THE BEARS  The next day, the pigs trotted off to spread mischief in the woodland, their ricky-ticky steps scuffing the damp path into a mess of overturned leaves and broken twigs. Goldwynn stayed crouched behind the wonky rain barrel until the sound of their pig-trouble thinned, then thinned again, then dissolved into the larger quiet of the trees. She didn’t move right away. The woods had a way of listening after the pigs left, as if it wasn’t sure they were truly gone. The air held its breath with her. When she finally stood, the silence felt heavier than noise. No birds called. The light came down in broken pieces, the sun playing hide-and-seek through beech and alder, dappling the forest floor with spools of pale gold. The ground under her boots was soft and cold, a black earth that smelled of truffles gone to rot and old rain. It stuck to ...