Sometime life is a fickle mistress. she may play games and bless you, yet far more often she will leave you a broken mess she can mold. she often times will create the monsters she uses to play her sick games from the ashes of ruin. this is one such tale.




WRITTEN BY-Darkside Nemo

Little rose little rose what have you done. Left alone in a world your own, playtime will be such fun.

These are the words written on the stone doorway to my home, a dark red classic Victorian 2 story house on the outskirts of town. My parents moved into this property last month and after living here for only a month I have started to hate this place.

The garden is huge and my mother is always there trimming the roses her favorite flower that the salesman told her were planted by the last owner of the place.

My father is far from active, rather he chooses to spend his days after work in the library room on the second level of the house. Books are and never have been something I didn't care for. Rather it is a painting hanging on the wall that came with the place. The painting is of a hurt looking little girl in a velvet coloured dress holding a rose next to her sickly looking grandmother.

Something about her eyes is odd they seem almost to full of pain every time I look up into them. In the background there is a large oak tree with strange bells hanging from the twisted dying branches.

I don't like this place something is wrong , every night I hear the hum of a soft song and a little voice that seems to be crying..........

little rose ,little rose what have you done. left in a world your own , playtime will be such fun

I tell my parents every night and all they tell me is my mind is wandering as if they themselves never hear it despite the song being sung even when I am telling them.

I will try to go to sleep maybe this is all in my head I tell myself as I stair at the old fashion red wallpaper on the walls trying to fall asleep catching myself humming the song a few times before passing out.

My mother comes inside from the garden today to show my father something she found in the garden as I was eating. in her hands I see a warn old box the paint chipping and the legs of the box rusted.

What paint is still on it is a black. wanting to see the contence I rush over as my father breaks the lock on it.

out of nowhere that song that has plagued me for the last month is being sung again only the voice is bitterly crying it. I tell my parents and they start to look at me with judging eyes.

opening the top my father looks confused

He then pulls out a old rusted key and a ragged old children's book. the title of the book is in smeared black to rough to be readable from where I am sitting, it looks as if a child wrote it also. my mother looking down at me looking as if in though, let our daughter have it serves no purpose to me.

I always hated how my mother called me by the words our daughter as if she had a distain towards me. My father was much the same and whenever I asked for something or wanted his help it always seamed a burden.

Taking the book and the key I as always was told to go play as my parents always told me when discussing there matters. I looked closely at the books title as I walked away. it read the lantern under the tree by Abigail............ the rest of the name was scratched off for reasons beyond what I knew.

I opened the book and read the first page.

Little Abigail sat under a tree, her lantern lit up lighting up me.

This line confused me who was me I asked myself.

You've had your fun now your friends run to far away to see.

A shiver ran up my spine as I read this I wanted to stop but unlike other books this book intrigued me.

The branched drip the joy you seek as they merrily skip away to return another day.

May you find the very thing you seek.

This was all there was written on the first page, the rest of the pages were blank. All of the sudden I heard a loud thud as the sound of glass shattering into millions of pieces echoed through the house. my mother came out of her room irate and looked at me......

what have you done young lady she yelled angrily at me.

I looked up at her and crying told her I had done nothing and that I had been standing here when it happened. looking at me with unbelieving eyes she called me a liar . she then commanded me to go to my room as she stomped to the kitchen and started yelling to my father about how I had shattered her antique glass.

I ran to my room for years I had hated the way she treated me she was a monster in my mind for as long as I could remember.

I ran to my room tears falling to the red carpeted floor consuming my sorrow as I ran. the song I hated started to be sung again only it was different .

Little rose, little rose please let me in ,your home is broke and you all alone.

I just want to be your friend. 

passing the library as I ran to my room the air felt cold the curtains blew that covered the show cases that held my fathers most prized possessions, yet the room had no windows.

The song continued as I ran into my room and collapsed on my bed. I yelled JUST SHUT UP ALREADY at the top of my lungs and then the music stopped. I placed the book in the drawer of my old warn dresser by my bed and stared at the key, frustrated by my lack of answers as I finally was able to stop crying. the key had the initials A.R. on it.

I was exhausted and summer was coming to an end soon so I knew any chance of finding answers was going to end in two weeks. And slowly passed out with the key in my hand. the next morning I awoke to myself being shaken my mother yelling at me hysterically.

young lady what have you done to our kitchen walls she yelled as I looked lost at her accusations. I have done nothing I replied in the most respectful manor I could wanting to lash out at my accuser. still in the same cloths as yesterday she dragged me out of my bed and to the kitchen where the contence of all the drawers lay astray all over the floor.

the kitchen windows lay in broken pieces outside and on the wall the words the truth will set you free mother were torn into the antiquated looking wallpaper.

I protested screaming it wasn't me only to be slapped across the face as my mother screamed stop lying to me. I wanted to cry but I couldn't so much hate boiled inside me and my cheek burned with as I screamed why don't you die in your perfect garden, unlike me you actually love that.

I ran off as to my room and barracked the door with a heavy chair and cried for hours as my mother screamed outside the door eventually giving up and leaving me to my misery.

The key I had in my hand the night before now rested on the dresser the book opened to a page that I hadn't seen before. The words on the page were unusual and obscure.

The monster in your closet is not always the enemy, for some it is a guardian. Feed it well and live forever. Two yet one let to run playing games forever.

The monster in your closet , this confused me as I had long ago grown past my fear of the monster in the closet. 

Yet I was curious ,so I opened the closet door and turned antiquated light on. It immediately burnt out turning the closet into a black abyss and the luxury of having a large closet turned into a chore as I felt around.

I was about to give up when I felt a area of the wall that was slightly protruding and feeling more felt a tiny hole that could hold a key.

It was then I heard a loud clash and the sound of glass shattering outside my room as a scream of pain bellowed then within seconds vanished suddenly. I ran out of my closet slamming my shoulder into the doorway causing me to fall then after getting up and feeling a jolt of pain in my shoulder ran to the door and ran to the center hallway that ran down our large house.

In the center of the hallway lay a large chandelier that had fallen, yet as far as I knew there had been no chandelier on the ceiling. When I looked up however I saw a large dark hole in the ceiling where the attic was ,and a long hanging snapped metal chain hanging below the it.

The floor was riddled with small varies coloured antique candles and a mangled mess of metal and glass that covered a pile of flesh that once was my mother. Scared I stepped back tripping backwards shocked at the grizzly scene .

On the floor just outside of the pool of blood surrounding the mess lay a large steel key with the initials A.R and a dairy with a woman who looked very much like me but older. Opening it I read the first page, the words were written in smeared black ink as if someone had been crying. Many prior pages had been ripped out of it.

What I read on the first page however put more tears to my eyes in large letters I read page written to me by my great grandmother.



Shocked and angry I broke down running to my room after grabbing a flashlight. Running to my room a grabbed the key and found the possible key whole and angrily ripped the grey wallpaper off the wall. What I found to be a small antiquated safe and opened it. inside layer a stack of newspaper articles and a broken dagger a letter lay under the dagger.

I opened the envelope and read the message inside out loud. May the legacy of blood end and the monster we are born as die with the breaking of this family artifact. The news paper articles were all of clips about murders and disappearances.

Moments later I heard my door open dear are you okay my father spoke softly.....

Then I heard the sound of choking and as I looked out the closet a ghastly grey figure stood in front of me choking the life out of him as I watched. It grinned at me as it dropped the dead body of my father and disappeared to the attic.

Despite all the warnings and the signs it was a bad idea I rushed to the attic. Curiosity may have killed the cat but at least the cat would get answers I thought to myself as I opened the attic door with the key I found around that wretched mangled body of my mother.

My mind felt different it felt at peace with itself and as I opened the attic I stood in awe and disgust.........