Curse of Greed

Deep in the heart of the county, there stood a lone mansion, its owner a man of great pride and calm. Due to its isolated position at the heart of the ‘whispering woods’ its lone resident had no visitors; neither did he want or hope to have them. However one bizarre night, the man returned from his late night strolls to find his door open and mansion desecrated… Horrified he strode inside with great haste.

Thunder crackled overhead, the dense cloud formation blocking out the moonlight, obscuring not only others, but one’s self  as well. The frequent, brief flashes of light revealed six footprints embedded in the dust-covered wooden planks. Although no human sounds could be heard, the wind whispered and ominous tune from just beyond the many  windows.

Cautiously he stalked forward, the implications of the situation pressing upon him until at last he snapped, darting recklessly up the stairs, the moss-covered planks underneath made not a sound as he clambered onward. His hand glided over the ancient walls while he moved, apathetically noticing the paint was now faded and rough to the touch. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, a sudden groan alarmed the man, drawing his attention to the bedroom on his right.

BOOM! The thunder came again, more urgent than before though the man cared not why; there were more pressing matters this moment. A collection of voices – perhaps no more than three – were speaking to one another in hushed tones. “We cannot let them know.” One stated. “We must be gone by dawn.” another added. Realization dawned and with it, fury: these men were no more than common burglars!

Outraged, he moved to lay pressure against the handle and fumbled, falling through the door as his hand met no resistance. “What in the blazes?!” he mentally cursed. Then he saw it. More awe-inspiring and fearful than the intangible door was the scene before him – three men whispering fiercely over a bleeding corpse; his own corpse, he realized.

And as the implications struck home, the thunder boomed one last time, punctuating the end.

In his field of vision, the outermost edges of the world seemed to crumble away inwards as if it were nothing but grains of multicoloured sand, blown off in the wind. The last sight he had was that of his own corpse, eyes open yet gaze blank as it stared where the floor once was.

When the last of the world blew away, he found himself in a null void – eyes open but naught to see save darkness.

Then, in a sense that never grew familiar even after countless times, the void spun around as vertigo gripped him, and at last he found himself seated upon a brittle old chair with his home in ruins about him.

Plagued by his eternal torment, a single tear rolled down his cheek as he watched his dying moments once again…

And again, and again; until the end of time, thunder continuing to roar powerfully in both mockery and pity.


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