Fiction: “This Sinister Inheritance: Chapter 1”
Content warning: Allusions to violence and murder
It was a normal day for the Mackay household. That is, until Trixie, the youngest of what was once a six-person family, decided to start the event that would lead to the family's downfall. Everyone who knew the Mackays said that when they moved there, it was like something unlawful had begun to follow them. They had the perfect home, backyard, and family, so why did they all meet an unfortunate end? Nobody could answer that until now.
We were excited when the Mackay family first moved to this small town in Georgia. The previous owners died not too long ago, so some belongings were still there —purses, picture frames and jewellery. Not much is known about that house, all we know is the devil haunts it. It has witnessed or caused so many deaths; the count is in the double digits. A shadowy aura surrounds the house where countless lives have ended under strange and unexplained circumstances, leaving behind an unsettling silence that whispers haunting memories. The house stands as a grim monument to tragedy, its walls steeped in the echoes of lives mysteriously snuffed out, as if the air within conspires to keep its dark secrets, suffocating you once you move in and call it home. A death trap, taking the most innocent of lives.
The Mackay family moved in on Sunday, the thirteenth of March. We remember this because that’s when church was on for the previous owner, Marge, who broke her neck after a statue of Jesus fell on her. We all watched as they drove into the driveway, moving van in tow, and the neighbours began praying that they would be safe. They had a newborn; certainly, the spirits would let them live. We were wrong.
Slowly, they all began to emerge from the car. We watched, eyes glistening with fearful wonder. Half of us expected a bomb to drop on their heads, or for the ground to open and swallow them up. The mother had the baby in her arms, both looking like death personified. We all hesitantly emerged onto the street to watch as they all climbed out. We put up our hands to signal that we were here and welcomed them with open arms. They waved back. They talked briefly to each other, and then they disappeared inside. The teenager trailed behind, on her phone, holding her little sister's hand. I decided to give them some food because I could tell they were going to be hungry after all the moving. I grabbed some of the leftover chicken pasta bake I had made for Marge’s funeral, before walking slowly up to the door.
“I have some leftovers. I thought you'd like them.” I asked, forgetting to introduce myself.
“Oh, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I’m Maura Sanders. I live right across.” The woman smiles and takes the dish. She stands holding the baby in her arms. “Thank you, that's very thoughtful. My name is Lillith, and this is Trixie.” I smile, looking at Trixie. She invites me in, we head inside, and immediately, I feel as if the air is running out. Lillith quickly realises that she left something in the car. “Here, can you hold her?”
She deposits this little girl into my arms, like a parcel. A tiny, delicate miracle, with soft, rosy skin that feels like the petals of a flower. Her eyes, wide and curious, that seem to hold the weight of the universe, even as they daintily blink in wonder at the world around her. She immediately warmed up to me like she was begging me to stay. Fine wisps of hair crown her head, and her small fingers curl instinctively around mine as if seeking reassurance in this new and unfamiliar world. “God protect this child”, I exclaim.
Her tiny breaths are gentle whispers, and her cries are both a declaration of life and a call for love, filling the room with a profound sense of hope and possibility. Lillith comes back quickly. I hand Trixie back, and I smile slightly.
“So where are you guys coming from?” I ask, trying to make small talk.
“New Orleans,” she comments and smiles as she unpacks a box of diapers.
“That’s cool.” I cough slightly, feeling my air drain away.
Now I want to get out of here. Now I feel the suffocating air in here. I can feel the spirits lingering around, telling me to get the hell out of their house. I rush back to my house, breathless and slightly unnerved. The neighbours question what had happened, and I can't even respond.
Those innocents didn’t even know the full story behind the house and the shadow it cast. It was built in 1802 by Lord Ashter. The famous lord was eventually found to be a serial killer with victims in the hundreds. No one knows the true number – just that it remains a local legend. The legend also has it that he haunts the house, groaning as he moves on the landing, his trusty axe in his hand. Reciting the names of the people he killed with a ghastly smile.
I wish I could have saved them from this horrific fate, but the house’s ways are incorrigible. Once you sign the lease, you automatically ‘own’ this house. In reality, the house owns you.
Chapter 2 releases 17/11/2025.
